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Brave Deeds of 
Revolutionary Soldiers 



UNIFORM friTH THIS 

Brave Deeds of 
American Sailors 

By ROBERT B. DUNCAN 



rave Deeds of 
Revolutionary Soldiers 



By 
ROBERT B. DUNCAN 

Author of "Brave Deeds of American 
Sailors " 




PHILADELPHIA 

GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



Copyright, 191 3, by 

George W. Jacobs & Company 

Published August, igij 



All rights reserved 
Printed in U.S.A. 



• //^ 



Contents 



I. The Hornet's Nest 

The Story of a Game Boy at Lexington 

II. Prescott of Peperell 

The Story of Bunker Hill 

in. Luck and a Blizzard 

The Story of Richard Montgomery at Quebec 

IV. Only a Bit of Bunting . 

The Story of Sergeant Jasper at Fort Sullivan 
V. The Schoolmaster .... 
The Story of Nathan Hale 

VI. The Man They Called a Coward . 

The Story of Herkimer at Oriskany 

VII. When Arnold Should Have Died . 
The Story of Saratoga 

VIII. Another Sort of Hero . 
The Story of Valley Forge 

IX. The Madness of Anthony Wayne . 

The Story of Stony Point 

X. A Loyal Deserter .... 
The Story of John Champe 
XI. Wading to Victory 

The Story of Clark at Kaskaskia and Vincennes 

XII. The Last Hope .... 
The Story of Francis Marion 



38 
65 

112 
138^ 

173 

208 \ 
227 

275 



Illustrations 



A Great Shout Went Up From the Fort . Frontispiece V^ 



The Time Had Come for Patriots to 

Fight ...... Facing page 



Slowly the British Ranks Moved Up the 
Slope ...... 

It Was the Brave Montgomery 

" Get Back Into Line and You'll Be 
Doing It " 

The Battle Swiftly Came to an Issue 

It Was Breaking Washington's Heart 
to See Them Suffer 

" Carry Me Into the Fort," He Said 



20 y^ 
84 v^ 



148 
168 "^ 



^ 



192 



224 



^ 



Brave Deeds of Revolutionary 
Soldiers 



CHAPTER I 

THE HORNET'S NEST 

Jedediah Munroe lived in stirring times. It is 
hard, in these days of peace, to understand how 
exciting they were. The post-season series for the 
baseball championship, the last football games in 
the fall, a presidential election, or a strike in the 
steel mills, are mild affairs compared with what was 
going on when Jedediah Munroe was a young man. 
For a long time George III, king of England, had 
been bullying his ministers and Parliament into 
passing laws for the government of his subjects 
in America which the Americans refused to obey, 
because they were unjust laws, and because the 
Americans had not been given any voice in their 
making. George III, being a stubborn and rather 
stupid king, had stormed and threatened, and sent 
soldiers to Boston to frighten the Americans into 
obeying his laws. Already there had been some 
ugly consequences. Citizens of Boston had des- 
troyed stamps King George had sent over as a 
trick to make them pay him money ; had burned in 



8 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

effigy an officer appointed by the crown to collect 
the stamp tax ; had thrown into Boston harbor car- 
goes of taxed tea ; had stood firmly defiant against 
all his devices. One night some years before British 
soldiers in Boston had fired into a crowd that was 
baiting them with snowballs and sticks, killing sev- 
eral. Now it was beginning to look like war ; there 
seemed to be no other way out of the difficulty. 

Imagine the situation. A few colonies scattered 
up and down the Atlantic coast of America were 
actually thinking of going to war against the ter- 
rible power of England, the mother country. They 
were not only ready to do so ; they were impatiently 
waiting for King George to start the trouble. You 
know how you used to feel when some bigger boy 
bullied you ; stole your marbles ; ran off with your 
hat ; broke up your game of ball. You wanted to 
do something to him that would hurt. You made 
plans all day long for getting even with him, and 
lay awake at night thinking about it. That is the 
way the Americans felt toward their king. They 
were ready to fight to the death for what they 
believed to be their rights. 

Every little town and hamlet throughout Massa- 
chusetts, and neighboring provinces as well, had its 
band of militia that met each night on the village 
green for drill under the instruction of some veteran 
who had fought against the French, twenty odd 
years before. They were learning how to march 
and wheel and form and fire their old muskets. 



THE HORNET'S NEST 



" Minutemen," they were called ; they were ready 
to turn out and fight at a minute's notice. Signals 
were arranged for calling them together hastily ; the 
firing of muskets, the beating of drums, the tolling 
of bells. The countryside was a vast nest of hornets 
needing only a little stirring to bring them out, buzz- 
ing and stinging. 

You can guess that Jedediah Munroe was prop- 
erly excited over it all. He was one of the minute- 
men of Lexington, Massachusetts, and was contin- 
ually in the thick of the talk. Every traveler that 
put up at his father's tavern on the Medford road 
brought late news ; and there was never a night, 
excepting Sunday, or scarcely an hour in the day, 
when a group was not around the tap-room fire, or 
lolling around the front door in chairs, discussing the 
affairs between the colonies and the mother country. 

Coming in from drill on an April evening, in the 
year 1775, with half a dozen comrades, Jedediah 
Munroe found two strangers holding forth in the 
tap-room to a group of eager citizens. The young 
men pressed forward ; any man was likely to bring 
big news. 

" It's to be war," one of them was saying. "There 
is no longer any doubt that the British mean to bring 
about a clash of arms, and that King George intends 
to grind us under a heel of iron. It is now only 
a question of how and when and where they will 
strike." 

** Let them strike I " cried Jedediah, thumping the 



lo REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

floor with the butt of his musket. " They shall find 
us ready for them." 

"Aye, ready enough, I doubt not, young man," 
returned the other stranger, glancing toward the 
lad. " But be not too hot for it. It is a weighty 
matter to take up arms against your king; and 
we are likely not only to offend God by it, but to 
bring ourselves to a much worse pass. For what 
good can we hope to bring out of arousing the 
king's wrath against us ? His armies would swarm 
over our lands ; they would sweep us into the sea, 
and destroy us." 

A dozen voices clamored down the one who had 
spoken. 

" Let him try 1 " cried one. " He shall find what 
work he has on his hands." 

" You had better pack off to your friend the king 
before the ball begins, then," sneered another. 

" If he does as you say, it will be because there 
will be not a man, woman or child left alive in the 
land ! " exclaimed a third. 

" Except such as yourself," a fourth amended. 

" Even so ! " exclaimed Jedediah. " 'Twould be 
better to die at once like men than to be slaves to a 
tyrant, say I ! " 

" Aye, aye ; well said ! " shouted a dozen voices. 

" Very well," returned the man who had aroused 
the storm. " Ye will find me as staunch as the best 
man. I merely preach caution ; but if the die be 
cast, I commit myself to it." 



THE HORNET'S NEST ii 

The speech restored him to a measure of favor 
with his listeners. 

"Why say you that it means war, stranger?" 
asked Innkeeper Munroe, addressing the first of his 
guests, taking advantage of a lull to distract atten- 
tion from the other's embarrassment. " What news 
do you bring ? " 

" The redcoats in Boston are stirring about each 
day," the man replied. " They march up and down 
the town, fully accoutred, to the beat of drums. 
There is much running to and fro of messengers from 
General Gage to his officers, and an air of secret ex- 
pectancy about it all that the patriots of the town 
take for a sign that something is soon to take place." 

" Yesterday they were out over Charlestown Neck, 
two companies of them," the other stranger went on. 
" Last week a column passed through Somerville, 
and was hooted by the boys." 

" The lobsters are likely to get more than hoots if 
they come this way," boasted one of the younger 
militiamen. The British soldiers were called *' lob- 
sters " because of their red coats. 

" Not so, lad," reproved Jedediah's father. " We 
are not to lift a hand against them until they strike 
the first blow, that you well know." 

" And didn't they strike the first blow when they 
shot down our citizens in Boston?" rejoined the 
youth. 

" Aye, but the time was not then ripe." 

" These marching soldiers ; for what did they go 



12 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

out?" asked John Parker, captain of the Lexington 
militia. 

" Why, so that our people might get used to see- 
ing the red-backs about their streets, and so think lit- 
tle of it when they set out about the errand they con- 
template." 

" What errand is that ? " demanded two or three. 

" Why," said the traveler, " I had not thought to 
alarm you with the rumors that are floating about 
Boston, for they may be but idle ; but 'tis said they 
mean to come this way to lay hands on Samuel 
Adams and John Hancock, who have been stopping 
with your minister, Jonas Clark, since Congress ad- 
journed at Cambridge three days ago. King George, 
it is shrewdly whispered, has ordered them sent to 
London to be put in the Tower and wait for their 
trial for treason." 

The announcement started a hubbub of excitement, 
in which nothing could be distinctly heard above the 
hum of angry voices. Several of the younger mili- 
tiamen rattled the stocks of their guns against the 
floor. 

" A5'^e, and while they are about it they are likely 
to go on to Concord to seize the stores we have been 
gathering there," the other traveler added. 

" Not while there are men and muskets in Lexing- 
ton will they pass this way 1 " cried Jedediah. 

'* Why didn't they lay hands on Adams and Han- 
cock when they were in Boston ? " demanded one of 
the young men. 



THE HORNET'S NEST 13 

" Aye ; and on Dr. Warren, too, when he spoke in 
old South Meeting-House on the anniversary of the 
Boston massacre I " 

" Because they were afraid, that is why 1 " jeered 
Jedediah. 

The elder men let the boasts of the young pass by 
them. They were more concerned with the import 
of the news that they had listened to. " What rea- 
son have you for thinking that they are coming this 
way?" asked Mr. Munroe. 

" Reason enough, in a way," replied his guest. 
"John Knox, and Paul Revere, and the others who 
make it their business to watch what goes on in the 
city have seen many signs that lead them to expect 
such a move. They do not let a moment pass with- 
out watchfulness ; and if you are roused out of your 
beds some fair night soon by a clatter of hoofs and 
a shouting you may know that it is Paul Revere 
come himself to give you warning of what I am tell- 
ing you." 

" It is quite true," said Captain Parker. " I have 
been told to be prepared. I think we are ready 
for them," he added, quietly. 

" For the whole British army," said the youths. 

" So you had better go home and into your beds, 
lads," Captain Parker went on. " For who knows 
that it may not be this very night that we shall be 
called on to strike the first blow for liberty." 

At that many brave cries of liberty went up from 
the party, and a shouting enthusiasm for the prom- 



14 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

ised event. Presently the elders began to scatter to 
their homes, leaving the young men to ply the two 
strangers with further questions, and buzz over what 
they had been told. 

It was well into the night when Jedediah left the 
few stragglers that still remained in the tap-room, 
and took himself ofi to his bed. Big dreams of the 
things he would do in the war that was about to 
break filled his mind, until tardy sleep overtook him. 

Gradually, as he lay sleeping, a sense of disturb- 
ance crept over his consciousness. He was vaguely 
aware of a confusion of excited voices in the rooms 
beneath. Men were talking in short, sharp, unfin- 
ished sentences. 

He lay listening for some moments, trying to re- 
member where he was ; trying to make out distinctly 
what was going on. Suddenly definite words struck 
on his ear. " The regulars are coming," he heard 
some one say. 

The regulars are coming 1 He knew what that 
meant. He was awake in an instant, and scram- 
bling into his clothes. Five minutes later he was 
in the tap-room. 

A man whom he had never seen before was leav- 
ing by another door as Jedediah entered. His father 
and one or two others were following the stranger 
from the room, firing questions at him, scarcely wait- 
ing for answers. " When did they leave ? " "Which 
way are they coming?" he heard. Jedediah could 
not catch the replies. 



THE HORNET'S NEST 15 

"What is it, father?" asked the boy, when Mr. 
Munroe returned to the room alone. The others had 
gone to spread the news. 

" The British 1 They are coming ! They crossed 
the Charles River at ten o'clock last night and took 
up their march this way." 

" How do you know ? Who told you ? " 

" The word has just come from Boston. Hurry I 
Get your gun, lad. They are like to be here within 
the hour ! " Jedediah looked at the clock ; it was 
past two in the morning. 

"Who was here, father?" demanded the boy with 
rising excitement. 

" Revere ; Paul Revere ! Come, make haste ! " 

Jedediah needed no urging. Running up-stairs, 
he snatched up musket, powder-horn, and bullet 
pouch, dashed down again, and into the road run- 
ning toward the green. Already the bell in the meet- 
ing-house was beginning to ring. Its snarling notes 
sent a shiver up and down the boy's back. 

A shot rang out on the air. The reverberations 
had hardly died when it was followed by another, at 
a distance, and another, one after the other, until 
they faded out in the distance of the night. It was 
the signal ; the alarm of the minutemen. 

Hurrying down the road through the dark, Jede- 
diah made his way to Lexington green. Already 
others had gathered there, and stood in a shadowy 
group. Each had his musket ; some were loading, 
some were priming, some were adjusting the flints 



i6 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

in their locks. All were preparing to dispute the 
way with the British. 

They were in lively, excited talk when Jedediah 
joined them, speculating on the probable number of 
the foe, wondering when they would arrive, discuss- 
ing rumors that had already sprung up among them, 
like morning mists from the grass. 

"What time is it?" some one asked. 

"Two o'clock," another answered. 

" They crossed the river at ten. It is twelve miles 
to Boston. They should be here soon." 

" We have sent messengers down the road to look 
for them," said Captain Parker. "We shall hear 
presently, without doubt. Remember, you are not 
to fire until you are fired upon. The redcoats must 
strike the first blow I " 

The group grew. Men and boys came running 
from all directions, fastening their clothes, dragging 
their muskets, their powder-horns and bullet pouches 
rattling at their waists. There was a great clamor 
of excited talk. The young men were especially 
noisy, and boastful. It was a striking scene. There 
were no lights save a patch or two thrown from 
some window ; they moved about in shadow, like 
ominous ghosts. 

A clatter of hoofs on the Boston road, and a mes- 
senger rode up. "They must have turned off the 
road," he announced. " I can't find them anywhere. 
Nary a trace ; hide nor hair ; hoof nor head." 

Captain Parker took counsel with some of the 



THE HORNET'S NEST 17 

older heads. " Go back to your homes, boys," he 
said, at last. " No use waiting here. We'll keep a 
watch out. If they come we'll sound the alarm again. 
Sleep with your muskets handy." 

Jedediah returned reluctantly to the tavern and 
flung himself down on a bench in the tap-room. 
He was too stirred up to sleep, but lay listening to 
the talk of three or four who had gathered there 
to discuss the situation. One ear he held pricked 
for the first sound of the alarm. 

It came at last, — the roll of a drum from the vil- 
lage green. He sprang up and started down the 
road once more, prickling with excitement. 

It was half-past four. A faint hint of coming day 
lay along the eastern horizon. And such a day it 
would prove, both for him and humanity ! He 
seemed to feel some premonition as he ran along 
the road ; a sense of exultant sadness ; a tincture, 
perhaps, of the joy a martyr feels when he is about to 
die that something dearer to him than life may live. 

Half-past four, and the village green was filling 
up again with minutemen. Farmers they were, for 
the most part, and farmers' lads. Lexington was a 
mere hamlet ; a crossroads. Most of the houses in 
the village itself were farmhouses, with their fields 
behind them. 

Jedediah had scarcely joined the band, and was 
sitting against a stone wall, panting to regain his 
breath, when a horseman rode up trembling with 
excitement. "They're coming!" he cried. "The 



i8 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

regulars are coming ! They're not half a mile down 
the road 1 " 

"Let them come," said more than one of the 
farmers. "We have a welcome for them." 

" Adams and Hancock ; where are they ? " asked 
Jedediah, thinking of the errand of the British troops. 

" Gone to Woburn long ago," the other replied. 
" Revere stopped to give them warning before he 
raised the town." 

" Hancock was all for coming over to lead the 
militia against the lobster-backs, but the others 
would have none of it, telling him he was too im- 
portant a man in these big times to run the risk of 
being shot down or taken ofi to the tower." 

" Aye, and right they were ; right they were," 
commented another. 

" Hush ! Here they come ! " 

The day had lightened imperceptibly as they 
talked and waited. Now, by its faint dusk, they 
could see a deep rank of red-coated soldiers swing- 
ing up the Boston road, behind the meeting-house. 
It was not strange that the one who had first seen 
them had cried out : " Hush 1 " They were an im- 
posing sight, an awesome sight, coming through the 
gloom of the April morning. They were enough to 
cast an awed silence upon a tiny group of farmers 
and their boys, swinging down upon them in quick, 
smooth, even step, their arms gleaming, their uni- 
forms spick and span. They looked like a great, 
threatening machine. 



THE HORNET'S NEST 19 

But it was not sight enough to do more than awe 
them ; not enough to frighten them ; they did not 
stir from their places. 

" Form in line ! " said Captain Parker, quietly. 
** Do not fire unless they fire," he repeated, adding, 
" And if any man runs I will shoot him down like a 
dog 1 " No one minded his saying that, for no one 
intended to run. 

"Whacky, but there are a lot of them!" ex- 
claimed Jedediah, staring at the advancing column. 
Rank after rank was wheeling into sight along the 
road. 

An officer rode in front ; it was Major Pitcairn. 
The men of Lexington heard him give an order, and 
saw the column divide, part of it coming on along 
the road, and part swinging in behind the meeting- 
house. With steady step they came on and on, meet- 
ing again on the green, and spreading into a long 
line. The thirty or forty militiamen, straggling in a 
thin rank along the edge of the green confronting 
the splendid soldiery of England, would have made 
a comic sight, if it had not been one of the most 
dramatic the world had ever seen. 

Major Pitcairn rode forward. " Disperse, curse ye I 
Why don't ye disperse, ye rebels?" he shouted. 

Silence along the thin, grim rank of farmers. 

The British officer turned to his troops. " Fire ! " 
he cried. 

They would not fire. It was no little thing to 
shoot down men in cold blood, especially when 



20 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

those men were brothers against whom they had no 
war. The call of race was strong ; these farmers, in 
the eyes of the British soldiers, were Englishmen. 

The man on the horse stiffened in his saddle ; his 
eyes flashed. " Fire ! " he cried again. He pulled 
his pistols from their holsters, took a snap aim at the 
farmers, twenty paces away from him on the edge of 
the green, and pulled triggers. Two tiny spouts of 
flame leaped from the pistols' muzzles ; two little 
flashes of fire that were destined to start a mighty 
conflagration whose flames would weld thirteen strag- 
gling colonies into a mighty nation. 

The sound of the pistol shots was still in the air 
when a sputtering fire ran along the ranks of the 
British soldiers, followed by a solid volley. At the 
discharge of the first gun Jedediah Munroe glanced 
swiftly from side to side among his fellows to see 
what harm had been done. He was watching one 
of his comrades, who had been hit, writhing on the 
ground, and wondering pitifully at the sight of a well 
man stricken down, when a hot flash of pain ran 
through his shoulder. He was staggered under the 
impact of a blow that had been so quick and abrupt 
that he had been scarcely aware of it. The next in- 
stant he was on his knees, staring at the ground, 
steadying his brain. 

A shot rang out close to his ear. Another, and 
another. His companions were returning the fire. 
The noise drove home a consciousness of what it all 
meant. Struggling to his feet, he picked up his 



THE HORNET'S NEST 21 

musket, which had fallen, leveled it, and pulled the 
trigger. 

There was no response from the gun. The pow- 
der had been spilled from the firing-pan. With 
steady hand and cool head he poured out some more, 
adjusted the flint in the lock, took steady aim, and 
fired. He did not feel the jump of the musket butt 
against his cheek ; he did not feel the great burning 
hurt that ran through and through his shoulder. He 
only knew that the redcoats had fired upon the 
Americans, and that the time had come when patriots 
might fight for what they held dear. 

The fire back and forth was brisk. In the midst 
of the rattle the boy heard the voice of Captain John 
Parker, calm and firm. " Disperse," he ordered. 
" There is no use in sacrificing ourselves ; they are 
too many for us." 

Men at Jedediah's side began to fall back ; the 
ranks were dissolving. Stopping for one last shot, 
Jedediah backed away from the foe, reluctantly, 
shouting defiance. He saw a dozen of his friends 
and comrades lying on the ground where the min- 
utemen had stood as he backed away. His heart 
burned with rage and hate against their slayers. One 
or two of the British had sunk to the ground ; he re- 
joiced in that, and wondered whether his bullets had 
found a mark. 

The redcoats came on with a rush when the 
American ranks broke. Jedediah turned and ran for 
a stone wall fifty yards from the green. He ran be- 



22 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

cause he wanted to keep out of the enemy's hands, 
so that he might fight again. There was no thought 
of fear in his action. 

Glancing over his shoulder as he crossed the field 
near the stone wall, he saw some one kneeling on the 
green leveling his musket at the British. Between 
the man's knees was a hat filled with cartridges. It 
was Jonas Parker. Jonas had sworn that he would 
never run from the regulars, and was making good 
his boast. Even as jedediah looked two infantry- 
men ran up to the kneeling man and plunged their 
bayonets into him, thrusting him savagely to the 
ground, where he kicked and lay still. In his heart 
Jedediah wished that he were Jonas Parker ; but his 
own time was fast approaching. 

When the half-back on your team, bowled* over in 
a scrimmage, picks himself up from the dirt and 
staggers into his place behind the line, you know how 
it makes you feel. You know how your heart gets 
big under your overcoaty and something clutches you 
at the throat to see him go back into the game, at 
the risk of another hurt, for the honor and glory of 
his school. How much more would you feel if your 
comrade arose bleeding from a bullet blow that had 
laid him in the dust, and returned to a fray where 
death lurked in every noisy instant ! 

That is what Jedediah Munroe did. He had scarcely 
gained the shelter of the stone wall when weakness 
seized him, and he sank to the ground. The bullet 
wound was a growing hurt. It throbbed and burned ; 



THE HORNET'S NEST 23 

a hot lameness spread through his shoulder and neck, 
and down his arm. He grew sick and faint with the 
suffering. 

He sat on the ground, leaning against the wall, 
gasping, sobbing. Now and then a bullet would 
spat against the stones, or whistle above him. He 
gritted his teeth and set his will to conquer the sick- 
ness that assailed him. The hand that he uncon- 
sciously pressed against the bullet hole came away 
sopping with blood. For a moment he stared at it. 
Then he tore off his neckerchief, made a wad of it, 
pressed it against the wound, and bound it there as 
well as he could, using the cord of his powder-flask. 
The flask he put into his pocket. 

He had barely finished doing this when he saw 
two British soldiers vault over the wall a hundred 
feet away, and look about them. Catching sight of 
him, they raised their guns and fired. One bullet 
kicked up the dust a foot from the boy's knee ; the 
other sent his hat spinning in the air. Without wait- 
ing to pick it up Jedediah started to his feet and ran 
along the wall away from the soldiers, crouching low 
to avoid exposing his head to the redcoats still in the 
green, of whom he caught glimpses between the top 
stones as he ran. 

Finding that the others did not follow, Jedediah 
crept around the corner of an outhouse, which he en- 
tered by the back door. He crawled into a stall to 
wait. For ten minutes he lay there before he ven- 
tured to look out again. When he thrust his head 



24 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

around the edge of the building he saw the first files 
of the British marching off the green in the direction 
of Concord, and saw another column approaching 
from the Boston road. 

It seemed to him, looking at them, that the entire 
British army had come that way. He had never 
seen so many soldiers at once in his whole life. 
Their dust could be seen away down the Bos- 
ton road. He watched them in fascinated admira- 
tion, forgetting his wound for a moment, and his 
hate. 

The second column, which was Colonel Smith's 
command, and the main body of the force, halted 
for a short time on the green while Smith and Pit- 
cairn refreshed themselves at Buckman's tavern, and 
then followed the advance into the Concord road. 
They had not passed out of sight when Jedediah 
Munroe, picking up his musket, went skirting 
through the field on their flanks. Such a matter 
as a bullet wound, more or less, was not going to 
keep him out of the fight. He had a score to pay, 
he had ; a long score, partly his own, and partly 
that of his countrymen, who had suffered enough 
from a British tyrant. 

His wound hurt him ; he could not make good 
time. Now and then he was obliged to stop and 
rest. The rumble of the column moving along the 
Concord road grew fainter and fainter. But Jede- 
diah did not care. They must come back that way, 
those redcoats, and he would have one good shot at 



THE HORNET'S NEST 25 

them, — if he lived long enough. His wound was 
hurting him bitterly. 

He was suddenly aware that two men were walk- 
ing beside him ; that he was talking with them. 
They were two of the militiamen. He remembered 
then that they had been in the outhouse where he 
had hid ; that they had come away with him, and 
been with him since he started. He had been too 
excited to notice them particularly. They were 
urging him to go home ; to leave the rest to others. 
They made him angry. He told them to tend to 
their own affairs ; that he was going to kill some of 
those redcoats if it did cost him his life. He wasn't 
very agreeable about it, but they were rather pleased 
with his spirit, nevertheless. 

As the three trudged along they fell in with others 
following the British. Some of them had been on 
the green earlier. Some of them had just come 
up from farms close by. Some of them lived over 
Woburn way. Three lads had come all the way 
from Woburn, having been alarmed by a messenger 
sent out by Captain Parker when Revere brought 
the first word to Lexington. 

Mile by mile the number grew. The little group that 
had begun with three was no longer a distinct party. 
A straggling procession of grim farmers and their lads 
dotted the long road. Each moment the number was 
increased. And always the newcomers had arrived 
from greater and greater distances. The hornets 
were beginning to buzz. The hive had been stirred. 



26 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

It was broad morning now. The sun shone warm 
from a clear sky ; unusually warm, for April. Birds 
were singing in the trees ; cattle looked up from 
their browsing in pastures to stare stupidly at the 
rout of men streaming along the road, usually so 
quiet. They did not know what to make of it, 
apparently. Already they had been sufficiently as- 
tonished to see more men than an average cow had 
ever dreamed of go walking by in red coats. Now 
the roads were filled again with men. Undoubtedly 
the cows wondered that the world contained so 
many men. 

Jedediah Munroe could not keep up. The stream 
of men, hastening toward Concord in the wake of 
the British, brushed past him. More and more often 
he was obliged to sit down by the side of the road. 
His wound hurt him bitterly ; his whole shoulder 
was afire with the pain of it. The bandage kept 
slipping ; he made it the excuse for resting. 

Once when he was sitting on a stone near a farm- 
house a little girl came out and helped him fix his 
bandage. She was full of pity for him. She told 
him that her father had stayed home to watch the 
house, but that two of her brothers had gone to 
Concord. When he was ready to march again, the 
girl brought Jedediah a bowl of milk and some 
bread. He realized then that he had been without 
food since the night before. The little bite revived 
him ; he stalked off with a stronger step, determined 
that the girl should not see him stagger. She was 



THE HORNET'S NEST 27 

shading her eyes watching him when he passed a 
turn in the road. 

He picked up a bit of gossip now and then. Paul 
Revere had been captured before reaching Concord 
by British officers who had ridden out the pre- 
vious evening to watch the road. So had Ebenezer 
Dawes, another messenger from Boston. But Dr. 
Prescott, who Hved in Lexington, and who had ac- 
companied the two on their way toward Concord, 
had escaped and got into Concord with word of the 
regulars' approach. The town had turned out, and 
the countryside. Most of the stores had been hidden 
or buried or carted out of the way by daylight ; prob- 
ably all would be saved, was the word that came 
back along the line of farmers. 

Glancing ahead down the road as he tottered 
along, Jedediah caught sight of smoke lifting in 
sluggish column in the direction of Concord. The 
British were burning the town I Another score for 
him to pay before the gnawing wound in his 
shoulder bit too deep ! He quickened his steps 
impulsively. 

The sound of a shot came to his ears from a great 
distance. His nerves tingled ; he felt like a hunter 
approaching game. The sound was followed by an- 
other ; by several ; by the crash of a volley, and 
silence. He hurried on. 

The smoke from the fire grew thicker and higher. 
Presently, coming within distant sight of the town, 
the young minuteman saw that it was the court-house 



28 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

that was burning. Farther away was another fire in 
a barn-yard. 

Fifteen minutes later, climbing the crest of a hill, 
he looked down into the village. The British were 
drawn up on the green. They had cut down the 
liberty pole. Squads of them could be seen moving 
from house to house, in search of the stores they had 
come to seize or destroy. At the sight of them 
Jedediah forgot his wound again ; forgot his fatigue 
and his sick faintness. He thought only of the score 
he had to pay, and set out to pay it. 

Making a wide detour, he fell in presently with 
some minutemen who had come all the way from 
Lincoln. They had been there before the British, 
and told him what had happened. The redcoats, 
they said, had ruined a few of the stores that had 
not been carted off to safety. There had been a 
fight at the bridge, in which several on both sides 
had been killed. The whole country was swarming 
with minutemen, they said ; if the redcoats did not 
start back for Boston pretty soon they would find it 
hard to get there at all. The Lincoln men had high 
hopes of capturing the entire British detachment 
before the day ended. 

The British officers in command of the expedition 
apparently had a like view of the situation, and were 
not so pleased with it. Jedediah watched them 
sending recalls to the squads, and watched them 
reform their men on the green before the court-house, 
preparing to march. Presently, with a roll of drums 



THE HORNET'S NEST 29 

and the squeal of fifes, they set out, entering the 
road toward Lexington again. 

Now the time had come. Crawling to his feet, 
the boy shouldered his musket and swung off with 
the Lincoln men to join a large body of militia that 
was hurrying across the fields toward the Bedford 
road. The Bedford road came into the Lexington 
and Concord road at Merriam's Corners, a mile and 
a half from town. If the militia could reach the point 
first, they could punish the British column severely 
as they passed. 

Jedediah found it heavy work keeping up with 
the others. Only an eagerness to settle the score 
made it possible for the wounded man to stay in the 
ranks at all. A dozen of his comrades urged him 
to drop out ; some of them insisted, almost threaten- 
ing him if he did not give up, but he answered them 
brusquely and kept on. 

His legs were like lead ; his neck was like a rag ; 
his head reeled dizzily. Every breath ran bunches 
of white-hot blades through and through the top 
of his lung ; the biting soreness from his wound 
was creeping, creeping across his body. He could 
scarcely move his arm. 

He was beginning to think that the end had come, 
and that he would be obliged to give up, when some 
one shouted that the regulars were coming. Follow- 
ing the gaze of the others, he saw a band come 
swinging ofl[ a ridge paralleling the Concord road, and 
making for the Bedford road ahead of the militia. 



30 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

A tension passed through the militiamen. They 
saw that there was going to be a clash, and braced 
themselves for it. Jedediah, experiencing a wild sort 
of glee, loaded his musket, primed it with great care, 
saw to his flint, and waited. 

The British were making for a bridge that crossed 
a little brook. It was a flanking party ; they must 
cross that bridge to get to the main body coming 
along the Concord road. The main body was in 
sight now, raising a great cloud of dust a quarter of 
a mile away. Some of the militiamen were for seiz- 
ing the bridge. Others, seeing that they would 
then be exposed to an attack in the rear by the main 
column, counseled taking a position behind the stone 
wall at the side of the road. They did so, and stood 
there in silent, grim determination, watching the red 
lines draw through the field toward them. 

Straight to the bridge marched the British. Ar- 
riving there, they wheeled, aimed, and fired a volley. 
It went singing over the heads of the minutemen ; 
it was nothing to the humming sting of the hornets 
that were about to be loosed on the king's regulars. 

A shot from behind the wall I A British soldier, 
flinging his gun into the air, staggered three steps 
and fell, grasping with both hands at his throat. 
Jedediah Munroe, his eyes lighted by the flame of 
battle lust, was taking down his musket from its rest 
among the stones and preparing to reload it. He 
had made one mark against the score he had to 
settle. 



THE HORNET'S NEST 31 

A dozen shots rattled from the wall ; a score, fifty. 
Another regular, and another, faded out of the ranks. 
The detachment, without stopping to reload and fire 
again, moved off briskly toward the Concord road, 
glad enough to get to the protection of the main 
force. 

It was the beginning of a tragedy. The hornets 
had begun to sting. From that moment the retreat- 
ing British were beset with foes that clung on their 
flanks, sinking their stings into the quivering ranks. 
They had stirred the nest too well. 

Jedediah, with a shout, leaped over the wall and 
raced toward a wood ahead of the British through 
which they must pass on the road. His musket was 
loaded and ready again. He reached the wood, 
stepped behind a tree, poked out his musket, and 
waited. The ranks of red came in sight among the 
stems of trees, stepping briskly. He could see the 
soldiers looking this way and that. Their faces were 
unhappy, anxious. They were alarmed. Now and 
then one stopped to fire at a glimpse of a man in 
homespun hiding behind some tree-trunk. 

Every trunk hid its hornet. Jedediah, taking care- 
ful aim at a man on the edge of the nearest file, let 
go his piece with a right good will, and leaped away, 
dodging from tree to tree until he had put a distance 
between the column and himself. Loading swiftly, 
he set out again to intercept the column once more. 
He was like a boy at a game ; eager, excited, joyous. 
He cared not for the thick throb in his shoulder ; for 



32 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

the numbness that was creeping over him ; that had 
already risen to his head, turning it light and dizzy. 
He was full of the zest of the game, and ran ahead 
for more of it. 

How many times that morning the boy delivered 
his sting from behind some tree-trunk, or stone wall, 
or outhouse, cannot be told. There was no one there 
to count. But for two hours he followed, just as a 
horse-fly follows a horse, lighting now to sting ; tak- 
ing flight, and lighting again. 

The condition of the regulars was becoming des- 
perate. They were beginning to tire. They had 
had no sleep ; they had marched eighteen miles from 
Boston since the night before ; they had had little 
food. They had been doing heavy work in Con- 
cord ; and now their hands were full of heavier. 
And the day was piping hot. 

At every turn of the road, they were met by the 
persistent foe. Every rise in the ground, every 
cluster of trees, every stretch of stone wall, swarmed 
with the maddened hornets. Fresh swarms of them, 
coming from distant towns, stirred by the stick, 
rushed out upon the struggling Englishmen. There 
was no refuge from their stings. 

They sent out flanking parties to clear the sides 
of the road. The flanking parties found no solid 
foe ; only a fluid line of hidden enemies that drew 
away, only to close up again upon them when they 
returned to the main force in the road. 

The firing was incessant, from all directions. It 



THE HORNET'S NEST 33 

was maddening. There was no way of striking 
back, because there was nothing to strike at ; no or- 
ganization, no formation. Only farmers and their 
lads scampering from tree to rock, from rock to tree, 
with their deadly muskets ready to sting again and 
again, from each rock and tree. 

The regulars, schooled in war, and as brave as 
any soldiers, could not stand it. They were in no 
mood for fighting, but there was no choice. They 
must fight, or die. Some of them preferred to die, 
and sat down by the side of the road, expecting 
some yeoman to come up and despatch them. 

They crowded in the road like sheep, each trying 
to bury himself in the center of the column, where he 
would be protected from the galling fire. Officers 
were powerless to control them. Faster and faster 
they hurried along the hot, dusty road, a disorganized 
mob. They did not try to fight back ; they only 
tried to get out of the way. And always, with- 
out giving a moment's rest, the militiamen kept 
up their nagging fire, bullet by bullet, minute by 
minute. 

Jedediah Munroe trudged doggedly on their flanks 
like a pursuing ghost. Very like a ghost he was ; 
grim, gray, silent. He was in a trance of weakness 
and pain ; firing, loading, running ahead, and firing 
again had become a habit. He did it all mechanically, 
without thinking. The world was a great whirling 
disk to his senses, with a splotch of red in its center, 
— and another splotch on the shoulder of his coat 



34 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

The splotch in the center was growing smaller ; that 
on his coat was increasing. 

Fatigue seized him now and then, compelling him 
to sit down and rest. Sometimes he fell in his tracks 
and lay until strength enough returned to enable him 
to stagger forward again. It seemed to him that all 
his life had been filled with this experience of firing 
into the central splotch of red ; of stopping to rest, 
and staggering forward once more. He had no 
other recollection. 

This sense was so strong on him that presently, 
when something dimly familiar in the scene aroused 
his consciousness, he was puzzled to know what it 
was, and where he had seen it before. Then he 
realized that he was back in Lexington again. 

He saw the meeting-house ; Buckman's tavern on 
the green ; recognized the plat of level ground where 
he had learned soldiering with his neighbors and 
comrades. He stood staring at it, supporting him- 
self with his musket. 

Something was happening ; he could not make out 
what it was. The straggling patch of red in the 
center of the whirling world had become strangely 
steady and regular. It was a great hollow square 
now, with sides of red-coated men. But in the mid- 
dle of the square was the same red splotch that he 
had been following so mercilessly since — since time 
began. 

Gradually, as he looked, he saw other lines form- 
ing outside the central square, at a distance. Somber, 



THE HORNET'S NEST 35 

dull-colored lines they were, composed of men in 
workaday dress. He knew at last that they were 
the yeomen of the countryside called out by the 
alarm to fight for their country ; that they were the 
hornets whose nest had been stirred by the British 
stick. 

" Curse 'em 1 " he heard some one say, at his 
elbow. 

" Curse who ? " he demanded, hotly. 

•' The British. They've come from Boston ; and 
just in time, too ! Half an hour more and we'd have 
bagged the whole lot of 'em." 

What the man said was true. The expedition that 
had marched forth so bravely in the morning was an 
exhausted wreck. The regulars were scarcely able 
to drag one foot behind the other when they reached 
Lexington, where they found Earl Percy with a 
fresh body of troops from Boston drawn up in hol- 
low square. 

The desperate fugitives flung themselves on the 
ground in the protection of their comrades, and lay 
there helpless, their tongues hanging from their 
mouths. 

Even now they were not safe. Their bitter foe 
began to press on the larger force with the courage 
and determination of men within whose grasp was 
victory. Every minute their numbers grew ; farmers 
and villagers still came pouring in to the attack. 

Percy, alarmed, aroused the exhausted troops and 
took up his march slowly down the Boston road. 



36 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

He had two pieces of artillery with him, which he 
planted on hills at each side of the road. Their 
hoarse barking and heavy bites held back the 
militia, unused to war, and awed by cannon. 

Seeing the foe slipping from the grasp of the 
Americans, Jedediah Munroe, lost to all sense of fear 
or self, thinking only of the score he had to settle, 
moved forward with the fringe of militiamen against 
the stiff ranks of the British troops. In his eyes was 
a wild light ; the light of raging fever ; the light of 
death. 

He heard shouts ; heard his name called. He 
was vaguely aware that he was alone ; that he had 
left his comrades behind and was advancing, a 
solitary figure against the red array. He did not 
pause ; he did not take thought of what he did, but 
stalked forward, head held high, the light of death in 
his eyes. 

He stopped. He raised his musket, leveling the 
barrel at the brilliant ranks ahead of him. The long 
steel tube danced in a circle ; the enemy swung in 
wavering lines ahead before him. He pulled the 
trigger. 

With the flash of his gun he saw another flash 
from the mouth of a cannon. Saw it, and knew no 
more. A black blow descended upon him from the 
air. He lay stretched in death on the village green, 
where he had been taught to be a soldier. He had 
done his best. Those who were left must do the 
rest. Theirs the long, weary fight to rid the land of 



THE HORNET'S NEST 37 

the foe. Many were to follow where he had pre- 
ceded to the final bivouac, but in all the array of 
heroes there was none who would fight a better 
fight, or achieve a braver death. He had done 
what he could ; no man can do more. 



CHAPTER II 
PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 

It was nine o'clock on the evening of June 14, 
1775. The soldiers of the British regiments lay- 
sleeping at their quarters in Boston, save the few 
that were doing sentry duty about the town, or were 
posted as sentinels on the lines of defense that had 
been thrown up against the rabble of " peasants " 
and " rustics " that had swarmed in after the affair at 
Lexington and Concord, and settled down in front of 
the town with an angry hum, to besiege it. 

Out in the Mystic River British ships of war 
swung idly at anchor, giving back sociable whispers 
to the tide that lapped drowsily about their prows. 
The tread of their sentinels echoed across the calm 
water from their deserted decks ; there was no other 
life awake on board the vessels. They stood like 
ghosts in the silent stream. 

Across the water the town of Charlestown was 
adrowse. Here and there the light of a candle 
sparred the darkness through the windows of a room 
where some sick person lay in pain, or where a 
bookish citizen, forgetful of the near presence of a 
hostile army, was absorbed in the pages of a favorite 
volume. 



PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 39 

Behind the town, grim, silent, serene, the huge 
bulk of hills hunched into the dim night, with lines 
of rail fence and stone wall traced faintly across gray 
and yellow fields where new cut grass lay loose and 
unraked. Solitary and majestic they stood, indiffer- 
ent to the petty passions of men that were playing 
the game of war within sight of them ; unmindful of 
this little bubble that was breaking on the sea of 
eternity through which they had endured. 

The ridge of which they were part came to two 
prominences. One of them, Breed's Hill, stood in 
advance of the other, nearer the town and the water, 
attached to its comrade by a bridging ridge, broad 
and smooth. The other, Bunker Hill, towered 
slightly higher than the first. From it the ridge ran 
backward, growing lower and narrower, until it 
pinched out and finally disappeared at the narrow 
neck of land which connected the peninsula, on 
which the town and hills were situated, with the 
mainland. 

Beyond the neck of land, stretching in a long, thin 
circle, marked and dotted with earthwork and en- 
campment ; passing through towns and hamlets, 
crossing field and woods, ridge and river, was the 
line of the American forces ; the ** peasants " and 
" rustics " that were besieging Boston town. Here 
and there in the long line camp-fires glowed red 
against the earth ; here and there lights in some 
house or village mansion showed that the officers 
who commanded this array were taking counsel, how 



40 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

they might drive the hated redcoats from the chief 
city of the colony. 

Over it all, city and river, town and hill, droning 
camp and silent countryside, hovered the starry 
silences of night. And city and river, town and hill, 
camp and countryside, earth and sky, held no hint 
of the great deeds that were to be performed on the 
morrow, the first of many deeds that were to awaken 
the world to a new country, born of liberty and free- 
dom on the shores of the Atlantic. 

No hint, unless there was hint of it in a long file 
of stalking shadows that moved in spectral silence 
along the road crossing the thin neck behind Charles- 
town. What could it bode, that long, broken dusky 
file of shadows that bore on their shoulders muskets, 
and shovels, and picks ? What was the meaning of 
the carts scattered among the shadows, their wheels 
wound with wisps of straw to kill the noise of their 
rolling ? The hours, rushing swiftly down out of 
eternity, were to tell the meaning of that ghost-like 
procession. At their head strode a tall, rugged, 
well-knit man, his face raised to the breeze, his alert 
eyes searching the darkness for the way, glancing at 
the British ships in the stream, and beyond to where 
the British regiments lay sleeping in Boston. Col. 
William Prescott it was, of Peperell ; he who had 
fought with the English against the French at Louis- 
burg in the late war ; who had refused a commission 
in the British army to return to his farm ; who had 
gathered together the minutemen of Peperell when 



PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 41 

the alarm came from Concord two months before, 
and who had not since turned his back on the foes 
of liberty and freedom in yonder city. 

The British regiments slept on ; the sentinels con- 
tinued to tread the empty decks of the British ships 
of war, calling out that all was well as the hours 
struck, and the stealthy file of shadows moved out 
across the neck of land and up the nearest hill — 
Bunker Hill. 

They came to the crest. The thin stream of 
dusky shadows gathered into broad eddies, whisper- 
ing softly within themselves. The quiet carts came 
to a halt. A group of men joined in earnest discus- 
sion apart from the others. 

" Here is the place," said one. 

•' But the other hill is better," another objected. 
" Look ; it is closer to the town. Our guns could 
command the city from there, and sweep the British 
shipping from the river." 

" But there we should be in danger of being cut 
off," returned a third. " The enemy could seize the 
neck of land, and have us bottled up ; but if we for- 
tify here we could keep them from it." 

" What is to be gained by holding the position 
unless we can put it to some use ? " argued another. 
" We could do nothing here against the town or the 
ships ; it is too far. If the other hill is exposed, we 
must remember that we shall gain nothing without 
exposure, and war is not a lady's game, to be plaved 
fearfully." 



42 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

" Neither is it a game where you should set for 
yourself traps." 

" We should gain enough by holding this hill," 
went on another, " for it is known that the enemy de- 
sire it for their own use, to hold back our own lines. 
They had planned to seize it soon." 

" Come, let us decide," protested Gridley, an en- 
gineer who was to lay out the plan of the fort. "We 
have no time to lose. It is already late to begin." 

" Our orders were to fortify Bunker Hill," submit- 
ted another of the group, " We had best do as we 
were told." 

Colonel Prescott spoke up. ** That is no reason 
why we should not do as we see fit, now that we are 
on the ground and can look it over." 

So the argument went on to no decision. They 
walked across to Breed's Hill, and back again, weigh- 
ing every reason for and against each position, los- 
ing much precious time, while the soldiers waited 
impatiently to begin the task that was ahead of them. 
It was not until Gridley had urged them time and 
again, pleading with them to decide one way or the 
other, that Colonel Prescott gave the order to have 
the fort built on Breed's Hill, nearer to the town and 
river, and farthest from the slim neck of land which 
was their only escape from the position if disaster 
came upon them. 

Presently, on the top of Breed's Hill, there arose a 
faint busy sound ; the thud of picks on the surface 
of the ground, the click of shovels against stones. 



PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 43 

the soft hiss of dirt flung from shovel blades, the 
sigh of it sinking upon the banks that grew apace, 
the smothered grunts and labored breathing of men, 
a low-spoken word now and then of comment, a 
question asked and answered, a suggestion given. 
The embankment took form along the lines laid 
down by Gridley, and grew with a rapidity that 
seemed like magic. But not one least sound went 
down from the hill to the sentinels on the deserted 
decks of the British ships. 

Stout lads they were behind the shovels and 
picks ; men who tilled the soil ; who had fought a 
hard fight to drag their sustenance from the ground 
through generations ; who were as familiar with the 
use of the weapons they plied as with the muskets 
which lay on the ground ready for what was to 
follow. And behind the stout lads was an intense 
feeling of hatred for the foe against whom they 
labored ; of love for the rights and liberties which 
that foe disputed, giving them greater strength and 
endurance for the task. 

One hour passed ; two ; three. The work was 
beginning to look like something ; even those unused 
to fortifications could see the idea behind it ; the 
purpose of the angled walls they were throwing up. 
Doubtful hearts took new courage ; tired muscles 
and bones forgot their fatigue ; the dirt flew fast and 
faster. Those at work could hear the ships' bells 
striking the hour in the river below ; could hear the 
sentinels on watch cry out : " All's well ; " could 



44 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

almost hear the tread of their feet on the planks. 
No hint of their presence on the hill had warned the 
enemy. 

Gray crept into the east ; a faint hue, growing 
brighter, streaked presently with flushes from the 
sun rising in the distant ocean. Time pressed ; the 
work was not completed. Slowly the dim outlines of 
the hill took form from the hovering dusk ; the 
town of Charlestown arose from the gulf of darkness 
that had drowned it from their sight ; the outlines of 
the ships at anchor in the stream became more and 
more distinct. 

A soldier, stopping to rest, glanced down at the 
ships. He saw a ball of white smoke leap suddenly 
from the vessel's side, pierced by a quick, bright 
flash. Before he had time to exclaim, the air shook 
with the boom of a cannon. The British on the 
ships had seen them ; the game had begun. 

Another pufl of smoke ; another flash, and the 
boom of another gun rushed up the hill. A second 
ship spoke ; a third. In ten minutes three of them 
were pounding away regularly at the mound of 
earth that had risen during the night, and swarmed 
now with men looking, from the distant river, like so 
many ants. 

The balls struck around the workers, kicking up a 
cloud of dust in the hillside, or howling over their 
heads. There were not many who had been under 
the fire of heavy guns before ; they looked at one 
another with long faces. " Courage, men," said 



PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 45 



Colonel Prescott, walking among them, calm as a 
duck. They fell to work once more, watching over 
their shoulders for the balls. 

Prescott, calling an aide, sent him to General 
Artemus Ward, at Cambridge, with a request for 
reinforcements. He foresaw that the British would 
not leave them long in undisputed possession of the 
hill. Their cannonading was too vigorous ; too 
businesslike. 

Those on the hill could see soldiers and dragoons 
running to and fro over in the streets of Boston 
bearing messages, carrying alarms. People began 
to appear in vacant lots, on verandahs, on roofs, to 
see what the clatter was all about. The sight they 
saw held them excited witnesses. They knew what 
it meant. They knew that if their friends were 
permitted to hold ihe hill Boston couid no longer be 
occupied by the British ; and they knew that if the 
British should try to take the hill there would shortly 
be a sight worth seeing. 

A cannon shot, finding its way into the throng of 
diggers, struck down a soldier. He kicked the dirt 
with his heels once, stiffened, wriggled, and lay 
quiet, without uttering a cry, or a sob. The sight 
appalled the farmers not used to seeing men slaugh- 
tered in such fashion. They drew away from the 
victim of the shot, anxious, disturbed, worried. 

Colonel Prescott, seeing the fear growing among 
them, leapt upon the top of the embankment, with 
drawn sword in his hand. 



46 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

" A chance shot ; a chance shot ! " he cried, walk- 
ing to and fro quietly, with head erect. " Never 
mind them, men. We have work to do." 

The sight of the man walking calmly in such 
exposure reassured them. They picked up their 
implements again, and renewed their digging. 

Companies of redcoats began to form in the streets 
near the river. Officers, hurrying up in full uniform, 
sent them hither and yon, forming them into battal- 
ions and regiments. Others came marching down 
the streets to join them. All was bustle and excite- 
ment. 

Colonel Prescott, marching back and forth on top 
of the embankment, turned an anxious eye toward 
Charlestown Neck. He had sent several messages 
earlier in the morning to Cambridge urging General 
Ward to send more troops. He saw bodies of them 
coming in the distance. Looking from time to time, 
he saw them draw nearer and emerge upon the thin 
strip of land. 

As they reached this point, two British barges, 
anchored near the neck, opened on them heavily. 
Prescott beheld the Americans continue to move at 
even pace through the drift of fire, and come toward 
him, on the hill. Presently he saw that it was John 
Stark, with his New Hampshire boys. 

Others came after him ; Putnam, Pomeroy, Knowl- 
ton. There was confusion on the hill. None knew 
who was in command ; each officer went about the 
work of preparing for the British as he saw fit 



PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 47 

Stark, passing over the ridge, hurried with his men 
into the sloping field on the left, where others were 
already at work transforming a stone and rail fence 
into a work of defense by building another rail fence 
in front of it, and stuffing between the two the new- 
mown hay which strewed the ground. 

Colonel Prescott, watching from the top of the 
parapet, where he continued to walk exposed to the 
bombardment as an example to his men, caught 
sight of some one approaching whose presence 
brought him down in a leap from his elevated posi- 
tion, and sent him hurrying forward to meet the 
newcomer. It was Dr. Warren, leader of the patriots 
in and about Boston. Warren was young — only 
thirty-four — but he had already distinguished him- 
self. Twice, on anniversaries of the Boston Massa- 
cre, he had delivered orations in Old South Meeting- 
House in Boston, when British officers had sworn 
that the man who endeavored to address the meet- 
ing would not be permitted to live. He had been 
president of the Massachusetts assembly ; next to 
Samuel Adams and John Hancock he was the most 
important and influential man in the colony. Lately 
he had been elected a major-general in the army by 
the assembly. Prescott, holding no commission, 
hastened to surrender command to him. Putnam, 
coming up at the moment, made the same offer. 

" I thank you, gentlemen," replied Dr. Warren, 
generously, " but I have come to serve as a volunteer 
in the ranks. Not feeling myself suited to the re- 



48 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

sponsibility of leading, I much prefer shouldering a 
musket, with which I hope I shall be able to efTect 
more than I could with a sword." 

No urging would induce him to change his de- 
cision ; borrowing a musket, he took position behind 
the embankment of the redoubt, which was now 
nearly completed, where he greatly heartened the 
tired men by his presence. 

There was another volunteer on that day whom 
history knows. James Otis, one of the first leaders 
of thought among the patriots in the times when 
King George was beginning to make himself detest- 
able, had suffered a beating at the hands of a British 
officer in Boston several years before, from the ef- 
fects of which he lost his mind. A sister took him 
to live with her at Watertown. Learning early in the 
morning that Bunker Hill was being fortified, and 
that there would probably be a battle, he stole away 
from her house, stopped at a tavern to borrow a 
musket, trudged across Charlestown Neck, made his 
way to the redoubt, and stood there now, musket in 
hand, waiting for the time to come when he could 
deal a blow in answer to those he had received. The 
one passion of his life — love of human rights and 
hatred of tyranny — had risen through the mists that 
obscured his brain and driven him there to the fort, 
clear of purpose, stalwart, determined. 

All along the line, from the four sides of the re- 
doubt to the tip of the rail fence next the river, every- 
thing was astir. Foot by foot the defenses grew 



PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 49 

stronger ; the walls thicker and higher ; the platforms 
behind the parapets broader and more secure. With 
men enough, and with powder enough, they might 
hope to hold out against any direct attack of the 
enemy. But they had neither men nor powder 
enough. The soldiers in the works were tired with 
a long night of labor without sleep ; and powder was 
pitiably scarce. Prescott had sent for more ; many 
and many a time he cast an eager eye toward the 
neck to see whether it was coming. 

But there was another danger, graver than scar- 
city of men and powder. They realized it better 
now that daylight showed the lay of the land than 
they had when they began to erect the redoubt in 
the darkness. By seizing Charlestown Neck, which 
they could easily do with the aid of their boats, the 
enemy could capture the entire American force. The 
fort on the hill was no defense against such a move- 
ment ; and there was no egress from the Charlestown 
peninsula except by way of the neck. Putnam, see- 
ing this clearly, formed men on Bunker Hill, in the 
rear of the works, where they would be able partially 
to cover a retreat. 

Now barges were being brought up to the water 
side in Boston town, where the redcoats were formed 
ready to embark. If there had been any doubt about 
the intentions of General Sir William Howe, the 
British commanding officer, they were settled now. 
It was clear that he meant to fight, and that he meant 
to fight hard, if need be. For he had drawn up 



50 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

three regiments of his best troops, and was about to 
embark them in the barges. 

All this time the fire from the ships, and from a 
battery on Copp's Hill, had continued to pepper the 
works of the Americans, but without much damage. 
The "peasants" and " rustics " were used to cannon 
fire by this time ; they had already found out that its 
bark was worse than its bite. They were resting 
now behind the works they had labored so hard to 
throw up, and were eating a bit of food. They were 
tired and hungry enough for it, you may know. 

Fancy the sight from Boston ! The day was crys- 
tal clear ; the sun bright and sparkling ; the sky 
without a cloud. Over on the hill behind the little 
suburb of Charlestown they could clearly see the 
fort where the night before had been only vacant 
fields. They could see their friends still busying 
about here and there, putting the last touches on 
their defenses. The long slopes that ran from the 
Mystic to the fortified crest of the hill lay under their 
eyes like a theater ; fields green with grass, yellow 
with hay, interlaced by fences. Down by the river, 
at Moulton's point, the regulars were marching off 
their boats and deploying in long lines, vivid red 
lines against the green ; a magnificent and terrible 
sight. 

Colonel Prescott was glad in his stout heart that 
the enemy were going to attack in front. He had 
dreaded more and more a movement against his 
rear by way of Charlestown Neck. He knew his 



PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 51 

men. Exhausted though they were by loss of sleep 
and labor without food, he knew that they would 
hurl back any advance up the exposed slopes, and 
welcomed it. His only doubt, his only fear, was 
that the powder would give out. 

You may wonder why Howe did not seize the 
neck, as he could have done. Many have raised 
the question. The answer is amusing — and tragic. 
He, and his fellow-officers with him, believed that the 
" peasants " and " rustics" were cowards ; that they 
would not stand before the British regulars ; that 
they would turn and run after firing a shot or two. 
Belief in their cowardice had been encouraged by 
English statesmen at home» Howe, believing it, 
thought that he could sweep the hill clean in a brave 
advance. He would not do the enemy the honor of 
making a flank movement ; that would be a recog- 
nition of their fighting capacity which he was not 
willing to admit 

To the beat of drums the red-coated lines formed 
in ranging ranks and moved forward ; one wing, 
led by Howe in person, against the stone wall and 
rail fence and the other, under General Pigot, against 
the redoubt. You can imagine that there was a deal 
of suppressed excitement among the farmers waiting 
for them on the hill. Many of them had never been 
in battle, and those who had had faced only the 
French and Indians in the late war. The British had 
a reputation for terrible courage. The Americans 
knew how well the enemy could fight. Some of the 



52 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

regiments that advanced against the inexperienced 
farmers had glorious histories behind them of battles 
fought and won ; of sieges sustained, and deeds of 
valor. 

I hope that you and I would have been as calm 
and cool in the face of that advancing array as were 
those who stood behind their hasty defenses. There 
was not a sound, not a movement, behind the re- 
doubt walls and the rail fence, excepting now and 
then a low word of comment that ran its course 
through the attacked, or a quiet order from some 
officer pacing up and down the lines. 

"Aim low," was the word. "Aim at their belts." 
Their belts were pretty things to shoot at ; white 
against the scarlet coats. 

" Hold your fire. Wait until you see the whites 
of their eyes," said Israel Putnam to the men at the 
fence. 

You must remember that the muskets used in 
those days were smooth-bore affairs firing a round 
ball. They did not shoot straight for more than 
fifty or sixty yards. Beyond that distance the bullet 
would go sailing oflE in almost any direction. In 
order to hit the mark, the man behind the musket 
had to wait until the target was close ; less than the 
length of two baseball paths. You can imagine 
that that would be a hard thing for raw fighters to 
do, when a brave array was marching against them 
with bayonets fixed, firing as they came. 

Closer and closer up the slopes drew the red ranks. 



PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 53 

They came slowly, in regular lines, as though on 
parade. In front of them marched their officers, 
speaking over their shoulders to the men. A glori- 
ous sight on that June morning — and a terrible. 

Colonel Prescott stood on a platform behind the 
parapet of the redoubt, watching them come. From 
time to time he looked along the lines inside the for- 
tification. He saw eager faces straining over the 
top of the embankment ; saw strong fingers toying 
nervously with lock and trigger ; saw Dr. Warren, 
young, brave, handsome, shoulder to shoulder with 
a farmer lad from Groton ; saw the pitiful, wistful 
face of James Otis, the lips moving, perhaps in 
silent repetition of some of the words he had hurled 
in his day against the British king, ready now to 
hurl more deadly missiles against the hirelings of 
that king who had come to do his despotic bidding. 

The ranks of the British came to a halt a hundred 
yards away. They lifted their muskets with a 
steady sweep, smooth and regular as the working of 
a machine. The Americans could hear the order 
given to fire. There was a flat sheet of flame, a 
swirling cloud of gray smoke, the crash of a volley. 
Heads disappeared behind the embankment. The 
bullets whistled harmlessly above, or pattered into 
the soft earth, sending up little spurts of dust, and 
releasing tiny avalanches that slid to rest, covering 
the balls. No one was hurt ; no harm done. 

Some one fired a shot from the redoubt, unable to 
contain his impatience. Away down along the fence 



54 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

there was another shot, and another. Colonel Pres- 
cott, seeing more muskets leveled over the ramparts, 
leaped toward them and struck them up with his 
sword. 

"Stop firing!" he shouted. "You are wasting 
powder. Wait until I give the sign." 

Dr. Warren, glancing along the ranks on either 
side, repeated the order. It ran through the line. 
Soldiers restrained each other; silence fell on the 
redoubt as the men settled down to wait once 
more. 

Another halt, and another volley from the foe. 
Again a few of the Americans gave way to eager- 
ness, and fired ; and again they were restrained by 
officers and men. Every bullet must count ; every 
ounce of powder must be well spent, if they were to 
drive back that magnificent array of valor. 

Seventy yards, sixty, fifty-five ; and still there 
was no sign of fight in the redoubt or along the 
fence. The British could not understand. Were 
the Americans greater cowards even than they had 
been reported to be ? Were they going to turn and 
run without firing a single shot? 

Fifty yards — and they had their answer. Colonel 
Prescott, his face alight with a sudden exultation, 
turned to his men. " Now ! " he said, in a voice that 
was little more than a whisper. 

With the quickness of magic the top of the fort 
was fringed thick with muskets. There was a pause, 
while the men took aim, and then a rattle of fire 



PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 55 

began, growing faster and faster until it merged 
into a continuous clatter. 

Out in front of the work, fifty yards away, was a 
horrible scene. The front rank of the British had 
disappeared ; melted away in the heat of a gun fire 
the like of which British veterans had never faced 
before. Soldiers lay squirming in heaps on the 
grass. Some, lifting themselves on hands or elbows, 
clutched at their sudden wounds and cried out to the 
sky overhead in their bitter anguish. Others lay 
still ; others merely groaned, or sobbed, with eyes 
slowly fixing and glazing. 

The red ranks stopped, staggered and aghast at 
the destruction that had leapt upon them from the 
brisding walls. They looked this way and that over 
the carnage, puzzled, confused, unable to understand 
the meaning of it. It was beyond their experience. 
They saw their fellows writhing in death throes on 
every hand. They saw officers on whom they 
depended for encouragement and command strew- 
ing the grass in front of them. They drew together 
like frightened horses in a storm, staring wistfully at 
each other. 

Fast and furiously the Americans plied their guns 
within the redoubt, and behind the rail fence. Howe 
had met no better fate there than Pigot here. His 
men were shattered, dumbly hopeless. Howe himself, 
standing in advance of them, watched them dropping 
one by one before the steady fire of the ** peasants. " 
He waved his sword, shouting courage to them. 



56 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

Habit, the habit of bravery, held the demoralized 
ranks where they were in the midst of the withering 
fire. Presently, standing there, they began to load 
and fire back, aimlessly, from force of habit. 

Those in the redoubt did not mind their firing. 
With a skill born of long usage of guns in forest 
and field, the countrymen loaded, aimed carefully, 
and fired at the white belts against the red coats. 
It was like picking off partridges. They worked 
swiftly, but calmly, without hurry. They did not 
waste a shot ; each selected his victim and aimed 
deliberately at him before he pulled the trigger. 

" See that officer over there ? Watch me hit him ! " 
cried the Groton lad, next to Dr. Warren. The piece 
was steadied ; it leapt against the lad's cheek at the 
pull of the trigger, and the British officer, brave and 
gay in his fine uniform, crumpled up and plunged 
forward, his face ploughing in the dirt. The lad 
laughed. 

So it went. Prescott, running here and there, 
watchful, took a musket from a wounded man and 
fired it. His eye caught sight of James Otis, gazing 
in fascination over the top of the works as he loaded 
his musket mechanically. He stopped to watch the 
old broken man fire ; saw the light of battle gleam- 
ing in his eye ; swallowed a sob of pity in memory 
of all the man had been. 

It could not last forever. Flesh and blood could 
not stand such murder, if British courage could. 
The regulars— those that were left of them, — turned, 



PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 57 

and marched down the hill ; marched with the slow 
step and even ranks of soldiers on parade. 

As they started a hundred men leapt from the 
works to pursue, going over the top of the parapet 
in a cloud. 

" Halt 1 " cried Colonel Prescott, leaping after 
them and dragging them by their sleeves. "Come 
back." They must not give up the advantage 
of their defenses ; they could not meet in open 
field British regulars that outnumbered them two to 
one. 

Ofificers and soldiers ran up and down within the 
works, restraining their too anxious comrades. All 
was confusion for a moment. It was not like an 
army, that force of defenders. There was no dis- 
cipline, no authority that they would all recognize. 
Orders had to be enforced by persuasion, and not by 
force. 

When quiet was restored at last the tired men set- 
tled back at their posts to snatch a bit of rest before 
another attack — if there should be another. It had 
been hot work while it lasted, after their long night 
with the pick and shovel. 

Dr. Warren stepped up to Colonel Prescott. " I 
congratulate you, sir, on a noble defense," he said, 
warmly. 

" We have the men to thank for that, doctor," re- 
turned Prescott. " Brave men like yourself." 

" I am only one who is doing my best," rejoined 
the doctor, modestly. 



58 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

" That's all any of them are. Every man here is 
just one, doing his best." 

•' Will they attempt it again, colonel ? " asked Dr. 
Warren, glancing down the hill at the enemy. 

" They are British soldiers, and they want the hill, 
doctor," returned the commanding officer. "That 
is all I am able to say." 

" They will not have their wish, sir ! " declared Dr. 
Warren. 

•' They would not, if we had enough powder," the 
other returned. " Tired as our men are, they would 
hold the hill if they had anything left to shoot with." 

" Is the powder gone ? " 

" We have enough for another assault, if they 
make it." 

" We shall have enough ; they will not take the 
hill," Warren repeated, emphatically. "They can- 
not vanquish such courage as this." 

" You can't load a musket with courage and kill 
an enemy with it," replied Prescott. 

Warren was silent for a moment. " James Otis is 
here," he went on. 

" I have seen him ; it is pathetic." 

" And it is glorious. Age has bent his body, and 
the British have beaten out the light of his brain, but 
nothing can smother the flame in his soul that has 
exalted him above his fellows in the fight for freedom 
which we now see drawing to a climax. It is sub- 
limely magnificent that he should be here, driven by 
the same high passion that has animated his life." 



PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 59 

" Heaven spare him from death ! " murmured 
Prescott. 

" On the contrary, colonel, would it not be a fit- 
ting end if this day were to put a period to his 
glorious life ? It would be a fitting conclusion to his 
labors." 

*' Aye," returned Colonel Prescott, " and a fitting 
conclusion to the labors of any man to die this day. 
It is a glorious day, sir." 

About to reply, Dr. Warren's speech was arrested 
by something that his eye had caught in swinging 
over the panorama below them. All this time the 
ships in the stream, and the battery on Copp's Hill had 
been pounding away at the patriots' works, raising 
a great din and smoke, but without any other notable 
result. ** See," he said, " there is more smoke than 
usual, Charlestown way. 'Tis a black smoke, more- 
over," Warren went on. '• Can you make out the 
meaning of it ? " 

" The British have set fire to Charlestown," Pres- 
cott announced, after a moment's view. 

" Why ? " cried Warren, hotly. " Why have they 
done such a wanton thing ? " 

"To cover their movements," Prescott replied. 
" It means that they are going to try again." 

" Outrageous ! " exclaimed Dr. Warren. 

A mutter of anger arose from the patriot ranks at 
the sight of the burning town. The fire, set by red- 
hot shot from the British vessels, sprang up in a 
number of places and grew apace. The black 



6o REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

smoke-pall lifted lazily into the air and drifted sky- 
ward, without serving the purpose for which the fire 
had been kindled. The long hill-slopes were as clear 
and bright under the sun as they had been. 

Down by the river the British were eating their 
lunches, and waiting for the arrival of fresh troops. 
It was clear that Howe intended another attack like 
the first. Presently the Americans saw the troops 
forming again in lines of battle ; heard the beat 
of drums, and beheld the enemy advancing once 
more. 

Prescott, standing on the parapet, turned his eyes 
toward Charlestown Neck again. Where was the 
powder he had sent for so urgently? Why was it 
not coming up ? Once more they could hold back 
this fierce flood, and then they would be helpless. 

Slowly, with steadfast courage, the British ranks 
moved up the slope. One hundred yards away they 
were ; seventy ; fifty. At intervals they stopped to 
fire a volley, and came on again. The guns of ship 
and battery made incessant thunder ; the black smoke 
of burning Charlestown rolled heavenward. Silent, 
grim, resolute, the patriots waited in their defenses. 

Thirty yards away the British marched ; the length 
of a baseball path. Suddenly the redoubt and the 
rail fence again became volcanoes, spitting hot 
leaden death upon the soldiers of the king. Once 
more the ranks withered away ; once more they 
stood appalled ; once more they retreated, this time 
on the run. The Americans from behind their works 



PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 6i 

could see them straggling down the hill in drifting 
lines, some of them helping wounded comrades, 
others making the best time they could alone. 

Silence reigned in the fortifications. Would the 
enemy try again ? The men were exhausted. Their 
powder was gone. No more came. Some of the 
men had three rounds left, some only one. They 
broke open the cannon cartridges and passed around 
that powder. It barely increased the pitiable store. 

Hours passed. It was five o'clock. The day was 
nearly done. The farmers on the hill began to 
breathe more easily. They were certain the red- 
coats would not try again. They chattered and 
joked each other in relief. 

Then they saw the brave regulars moving forward 
for a third time. 

Up, up the hill they came, drums beating, colors 
flying, the long, straight ranks marching in martial 
step. Closer and closer they came. Now the pa- 
triots could see the faces of the British ; now they 
could see their eyes. 

In the moment when the defense was bracing 
itself for the last shock, the long line wheeled, folded 
up, bunched, and was hurled in solid mass against 
the redoubt. 

Sharp spoke the rifles of the Americans. The red- 
coated ranks held back, shirking the task, shrinking 
from the punishment that had been theirs twice 
before. 

" Powder ! Powder ! " called out a farmer lad in 



62 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



the redoubt, in an ill-starred moment. " Where is 
more powder ? We're out of powder," 

The Englishmen heard the call, and knew what it 
meant. They dashed forward. The shots that met 
them thinned out, becoming more and more infre- 
quent. 

In the lead of the attacking column was a slim fig- 
ure of a man; a major of grenadiers. He leaped 
upon the top of the parapet, sword in hand. " Up, 
men," he shouted. " They've nothing left to shoot." 

The Americans saw him. They recognized him 
at once. An angry shout went up. " Shoot him ! " 
they cried. " It's Pitcairn. Kill him ! " It was the 
Pitcairn that had led the British to Concord, he who 
had fired the first shot in this war. 

Half a dozen muskets spoke. The major of grena- 
diers grew limp, caved in, and toppled down from the 
top of the wall, a dead man. 

But others came ; too many others. There were 
not bullets for them all. They gained the crest of 
the work ; they poured inside. Their bayonets 
flashed in the sunlight, driven home in patriot 
bodies. They were met with clubbed muskets in 
the hands of brave men. But the patriots were no 
match. Driven from place to place, they fought 
stoudy, only to fall beneath the pointed steel or the 
bullets which the foe still had in plenty. 

Prescott, standing in the midst of the conflict, saw 
that his men were being wasted in a hopeless, useless 
slaughter. He rushed here and there directing re- 



PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 63 

sistance, but to no purpose. Each effort to stem the 
rising tide of redcoats only resulted in death to the 
Americans. The hill was lost. 

" Retreat 1 " he cried. 

" Retreat 1 Retreat 1 " rang along the ranks. 

Slowly, doggedly, the patriots withdrew in cluster- 
ing bands, fighting off those who pressed upon 
them. 

Prescott, loitering and looking about to see that 
all had heard, and were getting off, beheld a sight 
that stopped his heart; that all but sent him back 
into the fray to die. Dr. Warren, tall, agile, was 
standing beneath the parapet, surrounded by British, 
beating them off with a sword he had snatched up. 
On his face was a light that told why he was there. 
He was there still because he would not leave ; be- 
cause he would not abandon the post that they had 
fought for so bravely. 

Even as Prescott looked he saw a bayonet thrust 
through Warren's body, and saw him pitched on the 
ground dead. 

With a raging heart, he turned once more and 
followed his men, who were walking away reluc- 
tantly, stopping now and then to snarl a curse back 
at the British. They were joined by men leaving 
the rail fence, where the British had found lodg- 
ment in the excitement that attended the taking of 
the redoubt. All were sullen, disappointed, angry, 
— but not disheartened. They left the field of battle 
as they left the field of ploughing at the close of 



64 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

other days ; without haste, without fear. For they 
had learned that American yeomen could stand their 
ground against the regulars of England, and that 
was enough. They had lost the hill, but another 
time, and many other times, they would put their 
valor to the proof. That they knew ; and that the 
British knew as well. Defeat had come with the end 
of day ; but it was the beginning of a braver day for 
those who had fought the good fight. 

And up in the redoubt, on the top of the hill, 
British redcoats gathered in silent, thoughtful groups 
watching the "rustics" whom they had taken for 
cowards as they straggled down the ridge and across 
Charlestown Neck. No one had a thought of follow- 
ing ; for all had had enough. 



CHAPTER III 
LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 

Four or five young men sat huddled about the 
kitchen fire in the Caldwell house, on the Plains of 
Abraham, behind Quebec. They wore the red coats 
of British infantry, but they were American soldiers. 
The coats had been made of cloth taken when they 
captured Montreal. They were glad enough to 
have any coats to their backs ; for the time was 
late December, and the winter was bitter cold out-of- 
doors. 

You would not have thought they were soldiers if 
you had seen them sitting about the fire, in spite of 
their red coats. They had not a military bearing ; 
they slouched in their chairs, careless of their appear- 
ance. Their faces were thin and drawn by hard- 
ships ; their bodies were reduced to strands of lean 
muscle and sinew. They had come many weary 
miles with their comrades to drive the English from 
the capital of Canada, and take the town for the 
colonies. 

The winter wind was howling dismally without, 
blowing keen from the frozen fields of Hudson's Bay. 
Drafts, creeping through chinks in the door-sill, 
drove them shivering close to the fire. In the next 
room there was the sound of voices muttering in dis- 



66 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

cussion. Now and then the tread of an impatient 
boot was heard. The Caldwell house was the head- 
quarters of Richard Montgomery ; he and his ofificers 
were in a council of war. 

Richard Montgomery was a man you would have 
loved. Bred a soldier in the English army, he had 
served with Wolfe when that general captured 
Quebec from the French nineteen years before, in a 
fight that had taken place within half a mile of where 
he was now taking counsel concerning the capture of 
the place from the English. Tiring at last of the 
profession of arms, he had resigned his commission 
as captain, sailed for America, and settled in New 
York, where he married a daughter of the Living- 
stons. You ought to know about the Livingstons ; 
they were a brave and splendid family in our early 
history. 

When trouble broke out between the colonies and 
the British crown Montgomery had seen the truth of 
the conflict, and cast his lot with the patriots on the 
side of human rights. After the battle of Bunker 
Hill he had started for Canada with a force of New 
York and New England troops, intending to seize 
the British strongholds in the province and so pre- 
vent the enemy from descending against New York 
and severing the eastern colonies from the western. 
Now, having taken the English fort at St. Johns, and 
captured Montreal, he was before the gates of the 
City of Quebec ; the post vital to the English cause 
in America. 



LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 67 

Another force was with him behind the city. Bene- 
dict Arnold, starting from the mouth of the Kenne- 
bec, in Maine, witli 1,100 men in the summer be- 
fore, had brought some of them through with him to 
the St. Lawrence, had crossed the river with them, 
and taken position on the Plains of Abraham. It 
was a dreadful journey up the Kennebec in huge, 
cumbrous plank boats, across the divide, and down 
the Chaudiere. Of the 1,100 who started scarcely 
500 reached the end of the journey. Many turned 
back, ill or discouraged ; many died by the way. 
Long before they reached Canada they had run 
out of provisions. Much of their food was lost in 
the water through the overturning of their craft ; 
much, getting wet, spoiled. For days the surviv- 
ors had lived on roots dug out of the mud with 
bleeding knuckles ; on the leather of old shoes and 
hunting shirts, boiled, which they sucked and chewed. 
They killed and devoured some dogs that had come 
with the party. They would have starved utterly 
had not Arnold gone ahead with some others and 
brought back cattle and horses laden with food. 

Arnold had depended on surprise to capture the 
British city. His surprise failed. Letters that he 
had sent ahead to confidential friends fell into the 
hands of the enemy, forewarning them. When his 
five hundred appeared opposite the city early in No- 
vember the foe was on the alert. Even then he could 
have taken the town by a bold movement. He saw 
the chance, and prepared to take it. 



68 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



His only hope was to cross the river above the 
city and storm the gates in the fortification facing 
the Plains of Abraham. It was a slim chance. 
Quebec had natural defenses almost insurmount- 
able. The Plains of Abraham broke down in sharp 
cliffs on three sides. At the end of the promontory 
thus formed was the city ; Upper Town, straggling 
down from the summit, and Lower Town, in the 
narrow space between the base of the huge hill and 
the St. Lawrence. On the right hand of the plains 
lay the St. Lawrence, with scarcely room for a road- 
way between the foot of the bluf? and high tide. To 
the left was the St. Charles, a smaller stream. The 
whole was amply walled and fortified. 

But Arnold believed there was a chance. He 
knew of the place where Wolfe had scaled the 
heights of Abraham ; the only place for several miles 
where the summit could be gained from the river. 
He believed that if he gained the plains and moved 
briskly against the fortifications from that side he 
could carry them before the defenders could prevent 
him. They would not expect such a move from a 
force as weak as his. The few men he had were 
half starved and in their scant garments were al- 
ready shivering with the cold. 

One night he ferried his army across, dodging the 
British war vessels and scout boats guarding the St. 
Lawrence. The prospect was bright, when the last 
boat encountered one of the guard boats in the very 
cove where the others had landed, and fired on it in 



LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 69 

an attempt to capture it and prevent its men from 
alarming the garrison. After that Arnold felt he 
could not risk an attack, believing the foe would be 
aroused and would infest the works before he could 
strike a blow. 

The incident was a part of the ill fortune that fol- 
lowed the American arms, of which you shall hear 
more presently. 

When Montgomery joined Arnold's band with 
three hundred more soldiers and took command 
they did their best to frighten the city into surrender- 
ing, but without success. Perhaps they would have 
succeeded if it had not been for another bit of hard 
luck. When Montgomery captured the British 
army at Montreal the British commander. Sir Guy 
Carleton, a brave man and an able, had slipped 
away in a boat, disguised as a farmer, and escaped. 
It was Carleton who organized the defense of the 
town, gave it backbone, and held the garrison stiff 
when the Americans' threats and demands promised 
to intimidate them. 

The situation grew desperate. The Canadian 
winter was already upon them, with all its horrors. 
They could hope for no more help from the colonies 
until spring. Meanwhile the city was likely to grow 
stronger, and the besiegers weaker. The only 
chance seemed to lay in an assault. The men were 
willing and anxious to make the attempt. The of- 
ficers planned it carefully. 

Three nights previous they had tried. It was a 



70 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



night of storm ; a savage wind, a cloudy sky, and a 
swirling snow, which obscured their movements from 
the enemy. Arnold, with one-third of the army, had 
moved against the Lower Town along the St. Charles, 
and Montgomery, with the remainder, had advanced 
toward the bastion that crowned Cape Diamond, the 
highest point in the bluff overlooking the St. Law- 
rence. His men carried scaling ladders with them 
which they had been weeks in making. But before 
they could carry out their plans the snow had ceased, 
the clouds had broken away, and the stars had come 
out, making the movement impossible. 

Now they were waiting for another favorable night. 

The group of soldiers about the kitchen fire were 
discussing the situation with the wisdom peculiar to 
soldiers. Most of them belonged to Montgomery's 
command, but two had come from Arnold's camp 
with his ofBcers. Arnold himself was in the room 
with Montgomery, and Morgan, and Aaron Burr, 
who had accompanied the expedition all the way 
from Maine. Morgan had led his Virginia riflemen, 
but Burr had come as a gentleman volunteer, 

" 'Tis a bitter, biting night without," said one of 
the men in the kitchen. " If it should but snow now, 
as it gives promise to do, we are like to have fair 
work to keep us warm before morning." 

" For my part, I would welcome it," put in an- 
other. " I have no stomach for this abiding in mud 
huts through a northern winter, with the snow up to 
the arms on a level stretch, and far over your head 



LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 71 

when it comes to drifts. I would rather be home 
about my own warm fire, with my babes clambering 
over my knees." 

" Right you are," quoth a third. 

" Hush, for shame," spoke one of Montgomery's 
men. " Would you desert a fair cause for a bit of 
adverse weather ? " 

" Not so ; but if the thing is to be done, let it be 
done quickly," rejoined the second speaker. 

'* 'Tis too late," observed one, who had kept 
silence until now. " The chance has slipped past 
us." 

" How so ? " demanded two or three, hotly. 

*' Why, that's plain enough to any man," the other 
replied. '* If we do not hit them with surprise what 
chance have we of winning ? And we can no longer 
surprise them." 

" You speak folly ! " cried one of them. 

" Nay ; for our plans are known. How, then, shall 
we surprise them ? " 

" How say you ? How are they known ? " 

" Blockhead ! Did not Sergeant Singleton go over 
to the enemy since our trial of the other night? 
Think you he has not told ere this what we in- 
tended ? " 

" Nay, but that gives us the better chance I " cried 
another. " For now they will be expecting us at the 
Cape Diamond bastion and will bring their forces 
thither, so that we may pass some other way unop- 
posed." 



72 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



The soldier had hit upon the truth. Such was the 
plan even then brewing in the other room. Already 
the officers had agreed that the main attack was to 
be delivered by Arnold through the Lower Town by 
way of the St. Charles, while Montgomery moved 
along the St. Lawrence at the base of Cape Diamond 
and came upon the defenses from the opposite 
quarter ; feints to be maintained meanwhile against 
the faces of the fort and the gates exposed to the 
Plains of Abraham. 

" We have but to wait for a fitting night, and all 
will be over," the soldier went on, 

" Aye, over, one way or t' other, and I, for one, 
shall be glad enough," rejoined the dismal one, 
thinking of home and little ones. 

The talk broke into new channels. The two who 
had come across the wilderness of Maine with 
Arnold's expedition fell to telling the others of their 
experiences ; how they had fought up the swift stream 
with their heavy bateaux, sometimes rowing, some- 
times poling, sometimes wading in the water to their 
waists or necks ; how they had carried the boats 
around falls and rapids, floundering in the mud 
with the burdens gnawing into the flesh of their 
shoulders, sometimes sprawling in a heap under the 
boats ; how they had laughed over it all as they lay 
at night in their wet clothes, until the food began to 
give out and sickness spread among them. They 
told of the horrid days when hunger weakened them ; 
of pulling out lean roots and gnawing them for 



LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 73 

nourishment ; of boiled boot-leather for food. They 
made the eyes of their listeners stare when they spoke 
of the weary journey over the interminable hills be- 
tween the head waters of the Kennebec and the 
Chaudiere. There it was that they first ceased trying 
to help fallen companions, leaving them to die in the 
wilderness, a food for wolves and crows. It was all 
each could do to take care of himself. Barefooted, 
haggard, gaunt, with clothing in shreds and stream- 
ing in the cooling winds, they had pushed onward 
along the banks of the Chaudiere until at last food 
came to them in the shape of cattle driven by Arnold 
and his small party. 

'• Will you ever forget the sight of those cattle ? " 
cried one of Arnold's men, spinning the yarn, to the 
other. " I saw dust rising between some hills ahead, 
and pretty soon what should I see coming toward us 
but critters. When I first caught sight of the horns 
I could not but think that my day had come, and 
the evil one was meeting me to take me away with 
him. For that matter, I believe I would have ex- 
changed places then for everlasting torment of eter- 
nity, so poor I was in body and mind." ^ 

" That I did not see," spoke up the other who had 
come with the Maine expedition, " for early on that 
day I had stumbled over a log and lain there, too 
weak to rise. I watched the others go staggering 
by, and felt sorry for them. And glad enough I was 
to have it over with, too. My troubles were ended, 
I said a prayer, and fell asleep as I lay, never doubt 



74 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

ing that I should wake in the next world. And when 
some one woke me, I thought it was the next world, 
sure enough. They gave me a bit of food, and put 
me in a boat, and brought me down to my comrades. 
When the wind blows too sharp of nights, and my 
feet are nigh freezing in my blankets, I think of that 
day, and bless God that things are no worse with me 
now." 

There was a scufBe of feet in the next room, the 
door opened, and the officers began to file out, still 
talking to each other over their shoulders. Arnold, 
handsome, lively, quick-eyed, conversed with the 
giant Morgan ; a man of sad visage and deep-set 
eyes, with a soul as big in courage as was his body. 
Little Aaron Burr, keen of limb and tongue, brilliant 
of eye and wit, dapper, neat, was with them. Who 
would have believed that this one and the brave 
Arnold would one day be traitors to the country for 
which they were suffering now so stoutly ? Within 
the room the soldiers caught glimpses of Mont- 
gomery, delicately handsome, genteel ; a man equally 
popular in the parlor and ballroom, or the mess and 
battle-field. Their plans were made ; they had cast 
themselves upon fortune. How well she used them 
we shall see. 

Amos Hargreaves, glancing into the room, felt 
something cold and moist against his dangling wrist. 
It was the nose of a spaniel, proffering acquaintance. 
The dog had come unobserved from the room where 
the ofificers had been in council. 



LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 75 

" Yah ! Get away ! " cried Amos, in sudden angry 
disgust, kicking out at tlie dog. 

" Have a care ! " flashed one of Montgomery's 
soldiers, observing what passed. " Lay a hand on 
that beast and you will have me to answer to. It is 
the general's dog, come all the way from New York, 
that you would kick ! " 

Hargreaves was about to reply in kind, when his 
comrade broke in. " Give no heed ! " he cried. 
" Amos cannot abide dogs since we had them for 
fare on the march. Is it not so, Amos ?" 

•* Aye, that it is," returned the other. " And in 
sooth I thought I had seen a ghost, for we had one 
very like this with us." 

The spaniel's champion in pity forgave the fellow, 
and the dog went about among the others, seeking 
friends with cold nose and wagging tail. But he 
gained no attention. Other matters of more impor- 
tance were in the air. 

Arnold and Morgan, passing to the door that 
opened into the yard, flung back the portal to go 
out. As they did so a gust of wind swept in, mak- 
ing the candle flame dance giddily. With it came a 
swirl of floating snow. Those in the room could see 
snow driving in long straight lines across the light 
from the open door. The storm had arrived ; the 
hour had come. 

Arnold, stopping in the aperture, called back to 
Montgomery, who came out to look abroad. " 'Tis 
a fair beginning," he remarked. " Another hour or 



76 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



two of this, and the time will be fit. Make haste to 
be ready for it, colonel." 

With a quick farewell and a promise to meet in 
the city below, Arnold took his departure, accom- 
panied by Morgan and the other officers who had 
attended the council with him. The two soldiers, 
wrapping themselves close in their coats, bade their 
companions good-bye, and followed out into the 
night. It was then near midnight. 

Montgomery was unhappy. Alone in his room, 
he strode up and down the floor in anxious impa- 
tience. He felt the weight of what he was about to 
do. He had not come in command of the invading 
force from choice. Only a sense of duty had com- 
pelled him. He would have preferred to remain at 
home with his wife, tending to the simple duties of 
his farm, which he loved. But when General 
Schuyler's health failed, there had been no one else 
to assume command, and he had taken the responsi- 
bility. He was not reluctant, or regretful ; he was 
only unhappy. 

The prospect of success was bright. The night 
already gave promise of being such a night as he 
had been waiting for. The wind was increasing, 
and the long lines of driven snow were growing 
denser. Unless luck went against him, fame and 
glory were in his grasp. Indeed, fame and glory 
would be his in any event; for he knew that the 
thing he was about to do was a glorious thing ; that 
it would be told of him in years to come. Still he 



LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 77 

was unhappy. He cared nothing for fame and 
glory. He longed for the quiet pursuits of his 
farm. 

Perhaps he had a premonition of what impended 
as he paced to and fro on the floor, glancing out of 
the window to watch the weather at each turn. The 
spaniel, coiled up on a rug before the fire, wistfully- 
watching its master, seemed to have a foreboding. 
Now and then it would arise to its feet and trot after 
him, dejectedly, whining softly to itself. 

" Ah, Rocco, little fellow," said the general, paus- 
ing in his stride to stoop and stroke the dog, " you 
would much better have stayed at home with your 
mistress. This is no work for you." 

He walked to the window again, gazed into the 
whirling dark for a space, turned back to his desk, 
sat down, and began to write. 

Two o'clock on the morning of December 31, 
1775. The night was black. Through the utter 
darkness swung the stinging snow in straight lines. 
Deadly cold it was ; so cold that arms were numb, 
that legs moved sluggishly, and heads swam with 
the pain of it. 

What were those shadows, blacker than the black 
night, gathering in huddled groups on the Plains of 
Abraham? Standing in ominous silence, heads 
bowed, arms hugging their sides ? They were the 
soldiers of Montgomery, forming to strike a blow for 
freedom. Whose the slim, straight, quick moving 



78 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

figure passing swiftly amongst them with cheering 
words ? Montgomery himself, the valiant and chiv- 
alric, who had left wife and home to lay his blow 
along with the others against the foe. 

And between his master's knees, shaking with the 
cold, whining piteously as he cast imploring glances 
into the face of the soldier, was the spaniel which 
Amos had kicked at in the farmer's cottage. 

A sharp word, and the groups began to unwind 
into a long file of moving shadows. Their backs 
were turned on the walls of the city ; they went up 
the river, with the wind behind them. In their lead 
trudged Montgomery, the spaniel hopping deject- 
edly at his heels. 

It was a weary way they went over the storm- 
swept plains. The wind was more piercing ever}'^ 
step ; but it was in their backs now, and the exercise 
of walking sent the blood driving through their 
veins. Now and then the head of the line was lost, 
floundering in some treacherous drift ; now and 
then it stopped to make certain of the way, for land- 
marks were invisible, and they must trust to that 
sense which men develop who travel much afoot 
in the open. 

At last they swung off to the left and plunged 
down the ravine that led to Wolfe's Cove. Reaching 
the water level, and pushing out from the shelter of 
the gully, they turned back toward the city, two 
miles away, and faced the blizzard. 

Was ever such a thing done before ? A handful 



LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 79 

of men, ill-fed, scantily clothed, marching through 
a freezing blizzard to strike against an enemy 
stronger than they, quartered comfortably in a place 
that scarcely needed defense? Into the hissing 
teeth of the gale they plunged, heads down, feet 
stumbling against the hidden road ; floundering in 
drifts to their shoulders ; scarce able to look up 
because of the cutting snow, and able to see nothing 
when they looked up because of the utter darkness 
of the storm-ridden night. 

You have known what it is to be cold. Your 
hands have ached in a snowball fight ; your feet 
have suffered on the skating pond. Perhaps you 
have had a frost-bitten cheek, or an ear. Undoubt- 
edly you have plied your sled on a hill until you 
were chilled through and through. That is all very 
well ; but always there was prospect of your warm 
home ahead of you when you chose to go to it, 
and a doughnut, or a slice of bread ; a book and a 
chair snug to the fire. 

Not so these men. Living in the open, half fed 
and half clothed, they had scarcely been warm for a 
month ; and if there was warmth ahead they must 
win it by paying the price in blood. No refuge 
from the blizzard ; no stopping when they chose ; no 
shelter anywhere for them but in the enemy's strong- 
hold. If a hand or a foot was freezing, they must 
let it freeze. If the snow-charged wind bit to the 
marrow, they could only shiver and sigh and plunge 
onward into its jaws. Cold guns in hand, they 



8o REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



must go forward, wrapping a handkerchief over the 
flindock, or robbing their body of the shelter of a 
coat skirt to protect the firing pan from the damp. 
We who Hve now can scarcely conceive of such 
fortitude. 

Marching at their head went the slim Montgomery, 
weighted down with the responsibility of the tre- 
mendous thing he was attempting with the lives of 
those who struggled behind him. What were the 
chances ? He dared not reckon them. He could 
only reassure himself that there was no other way. 
It must be victory or death. 

Once, plowing through a heavy drift, he stopped 
half-way, stooped over, and swept up the spaniel. 
"You little rogue," he scolded, thrusting the dog 
under his coat. " You think yourself a soldier ; but 
a soldier would have obeyed orders, and stayed at 
home." Yet in his brave heart he was glad the dog 
had come ; glad to carry him through the drifts and 
the flinging storm. 

The column, stumbling in long file through the 
deep snow, heard the crash of a cannon above the 
roar and hiss of the storm. They quickened their 
efforts, knowing what it meant. It meant that a feint 
was being made against the walls on the cliflF above 
them for the purpose of drawing the defenders 
thither, so that there would be less opposition in front 
of the main assault. The feint was in three bodies ; 
one against the bastion on Cape Diamond, and the 
others against two of the gates in the fortifications. 



LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 8i 

The sound of the first shot had hardly been swept 
into distance by the furious gale before there was an- 
other, and another, followed closely by more dis- 
charges, which overlapped in a continuous crash. 
The English were well ready for their foe where their 
foe was not attacking. The soldiers below congrat- 
ulated themselves on the way the plan was working 
out. 

Above the seething of the storm, piercing the 
rumble of guns on the heights, their ears caught now 
and then, faintly, the tones of a bell ringing in wild 
alarm. Presently another bell answered it from one 
of the monasteries or convents ; in brief minutes a 
dozen were crying with brazen throats into the 
storm, awakening the slumbering defenders with 
their startled outcry. 

Louder and louder swelled the rumble of cannon 
and the rattle of musketry from the cliff over the 
heads of the devoted soldiers ; madly and more 
madly pealed the bells, filling the night with weird 
alarm. Bravely along the weary way plunged the 
thin, shivering column, diving into the wind with 
heads down, paying no heed to freezing fingers and 
feet; to cheeks that grew solid and senseless in the 
blast. For the thing was working out as their leader 
had planned. 

Where was Arnold all this time ? They soon had 
their answer in a din of sudden battle that came 
swirling around the base of the cliff from Lower 
Town. Their hearts beat fast ; they forgot their 



82 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

misery as they heard the welcome sound. Arnold 
was doing his part ; Arnold was at hand. They had 
only to press on. Victory seemed already assured. 

It was a mad and glorious fight to which they were 
listening as they struggled forward. At the head of 
Arnold's column marched Daniel Morgan with his 
Virginia riflemen, followed by the men of Pennsyl- 
vania, dead shots all of them. Behind came the rest 
of the column, in long file, winding through the snow- 
drifts that filled the narrow way. In the van of the 
main body trudged three of the soldiers that had 
been passing the evening in the little farm cottage. 
They carried a scaling ladder on their shoulders, for 
use against the barriers with which the British had 
closed off the streets. 

Morgan and his men, marching at the head of the 
column, with Arnold among them, saw something 
bulky and dark looming through the storm ahead. 
As they looked to see what it was, the center of the 
shadow leapt into vivid flame ; there was a deafen- 
ing crash ; a rush of hot, pungent smoke, and a shot 
whizzed past. They had come upon the first barrier. 

" Rally 1 " shouted Morgan. " Shoot them down 
at their guns." 

Gathering swiftly in the black night, the riflemen 
leveled their pieces and fired where the flash had 
been. Their aim was lighted by the dull glow of the 
matches with which the guns were set off. Not one 
man showed himself within the fluttering circle of 
the wind-tossed light that was not stricken down by 



LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 83 

a bullet from the riflemen. The guns were made 
useless. 

But a British soldier, firing his musket from the 
top of the barrier, sent a ball which struck against 
the stone wall of a house, glanced, and plowed its 
way through Benedict Arnold's left knee. Leaning 
against a wall, Arnold continued to direct the fight- 
ing for a space ; but loss of blood and the cold of the 
night quickly sapped his strength. He had to be 
supported and carried to the rear, leaving Morgan in 
command. 

That huge knight, seizing the ladder which our 
three acquaintances brought up, placed it against the 
barrier and was over the top of it, followed by a 
swarm of men, pouring across the narrow bridge like 
ants. They rushed the English and Canadians from 
the space beyond, and dashed forward toward the 
second barrier. 

It was this fighting to which the hurrying column 
of Montgomery listened eagerly as they crept along 
the road. To their left the black face of Cape Dia- 
mond disappeared in the swirling storm overhead ; 
to their right the sullen frozen St. Lawrence River 
sent a pale reflection through the driven snow. 
Ahead was victory, or death. 

They came to the first barrier that blocked their 
way. The sound of fighting on the cliffs behind 
them, diminishing, was swept away in the howling 
wind. The din of conflict in the Lower Town, where 
Arnold's column was in death grapple at the second 



84 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

barrier, was slackening, as they rushed against the 
defense. Carpenters, pushing forward, fell to with 
their saws ; but Montgomery, impatient, thrust him- 
self through between the posts and the wall of the 
cliff, setting the dog in the snow to care for himself. 

Others followed, and moved forward. Ahead of 
them a building beetled down upon them. They 
dashed upon it, seeing the lights of cannon matches 
wavering within it. Some English sailors were there. 
They had been drinking. Seeing the shadowy forms 
filling the space in front of them, they turned and 
fled. 

But one drunken fellow, halting half-way across 
the room, turned back, with an oath, and touched off 
a gun. The act saved Canada. A blast of flame 
burst through the window, and grape-shot rushed 
swarming into the huddled group. 

One man was down in the snow ; two, three. One 
of them, raising a forearm, waved his hand, shud- 
dered, stiffened, and was still. It was the brave 
Montgomery. 

Colonel Campbell, succeeding to the command, 
pushed aside the whining spaniel and leaned over 
the commander. Terror smote his heart when he 
saw that the leader was dead. He hesitated, 
wavered, lost courage, ordered a retreat. 

Back along the weary way they had come, stag- 
gering before the driving snow, marched the soldiers, 
angry and sullen. They did not stop to lift the 
body of their fallen leader to their shoulders ; they 



LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 85 

did not stop to coax the wretched dog to come with 
them, but staggered on, defeated by their second in 
command, dejected, disheartened. 

Oh, the pity of it ! If they had pressed forward, 
Quebec would have been theirs. For at the mo- 
ment when they turned away, Morgan and his men, 
joined by the rest of Arnold's column, was making a 
valiant stand against overwhelming numbers of the 
foe. Up and down before the barrier the fight 
raged. Morgan, a giant in body and soul, fought 
like a knight, slaying right and left with sword, 
pistol, and musket-butt. 

Stricken down by fire that plunged into their 
midst from three directions, the men that had 
marched through the woods of Maine, that had dug 
roots from the ground with bleeding fingers and 
eaten them to maintain life, crumpled into the snow, 
freezing stiff in the contortions of their last agonies. 

Morgan, seeing the fight going against him, led 
his men into a house, where they made a last stand. 
But the foe were too many. If Montgomery had not 
been killed ; if Campbell had not been a coward, and 
the other column had come up then, all would have 
been well. But, freed from attack in other quarters, 
the British defenders poured down upon the stalwart 
band from all directions ; overwhelmed them ; 
swamped them in numbers. They climbed into the 
house through an upper window ; cornered the 
Americans in the house that had sheltered them ; 
compelled their surrender. 



86 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



Morgan, defiant until the last, backed against a 
wall and would not give up until his soldiers pre- 
vailed upon him to save his life, when he handed his 
sword to a priest. 

Thus ended the attack on Quebec. With victory 
in their grasp, conquerors of storm and numbered 
foe, they failed at the last because one man had 
faltered. 

Out in the drifting snow under the huge brow of 
Cape Diamond a tiny bundle of fur shivered and 
whined, crouching beside the slim figure of a hero 
stiffened in death. Faithful through life, the wretched 
spaniel would not be comforted, but crouched there 
grieving, with his cold nose nuzzling the cold hand 
that nevermore would respond with affectionate 
stroke. 

And when the British had buried his master where 
he had fallen, the beast still mourned upon the 
grave, reckless of wind and weather, ignoring hunger 
and need of warmth, until a Frenchman, a week 
later, carried him away to his own house and coaxed 
him to live. 



CHAPTER IV 
ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 

Seven or eight men sat under a palmetto tree 
next an arm of the Atlantic in the dusk of a June 
evening. They were rough looking men ; quite ill- 
looking fellows, on the whole. They were soiled 
and disheveled, showing the effects of a hot day 
spent in toil without benefit of water. Their hair 
was mussed ; stubbly beards covered their cheeks 
and chins ; their homespun clothing was loosened at 
throat and wrists for whatever cool breeze might 
steal off the surface of the lazy waters of the inlet. 

They formed a little straggling circle, in the center 
of which a few sticks and leaves raised a smudge, 
with a tiny blaze shooting this way and that among 
the ribbons of smoke. On the fire was a steaming 
vessel, giving out the odor of coffee. A round-bot- 
tomed saucepan balanced precariously on a stone at 
the edge of the fire. A chicken, dressed and drawn, 
hung suspended over it on a stick. The men were 
waiting for their evening meal. 

Behind them, against the palmetto tree, leaned a 
cluster of long-barreled, polished muskets, of odd 
shapes and sizes. Their burnished appearance and 
a certain smoothness about the stock and shanks of 



88 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

the guns showed that they were well used weapons, 
and no strangers to the hands that had laid them 
there. Among the butts of the guns, on the ground, 
were bullet pouches and powder-horns, together with 
a crude knapsack or two. 

At a distance from the men, pacing close to the 
edge of the water, with a musket over his shoulder, 
was another man. From time to time he paused to 
gaze across the inlet to where the opposite shore, a 
mile away, was disappearing in the gloaming. He 
peered long and sharply each time, as though intent 
on seeing what was going on across the water. At 
intervals he turned back toward the group near the 
fire, to call out an impatient question about the sup- 
per. 

The men were a squad detached from Colonel 
Thompson's South Carolina militia, stationed on 
Sullivan's Island, in Charleston harbor, to support 
the erection of a fort on the island intended to 
prevent the approach to the city of a fleet of British 
war vessels that had lately appeared, bent on mis- 
chief. The time was late June, in the year 1775. 
The English, making no headway against the patriots 
in Massachusetts, had sent thousands of redcoats in 
fifty ships against the province of South Carolina, 
hoping to restore loyalty there. 

In this they had more than failed. Although there 
were many in the interior of the state whose hearts 
had been with the king in the beginning, most of 
these had been turned away by an attempt on the 



ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 89 

part of the British governor to raise the Indians in a 
frontier warfare, and now that an invading force had 
appeared these had sent mihtia to join the patriots 
of the coast in a defense of their principal seaport. 
Virginia, too, had sent troops, and there was a regi- 
ment of Pennsylvania riflemen, under General John 
Armstrong, on the ground. 

Charles Lee, a soldier of fortune from Europe, 
who had fought in Continental wars, and who had 
thrown in his lot with the Americans in the hope of 
gaining fame and position, was in command. At 
that time his purpose had not been guessed by the 
patriots, and they welcomed him as a hero, with the 
glamour of a European reputation behind him. Un- 
der him were General Armstrong, Colonel Thomp- 
son, and Colonel William Moultrie. 

General Clinton, in command of the British troops, 
had landed 3,000 men on Long Island some days 
before, expecting to cross to Sullivan's Island over a 
ford and drive the Americans from the uncompleted 
work. But when they were ready to make the ad- 
vance, they found that there was no ford, and Clin- 
ton contented himself with encamping on Long Is- 
land, which w^as nothing but a barren sandspit. 

It was Long Island that the sentinel was watching 
who was tramping up and down next the water a 
few paces from the little group. At each turn he 
could see the masts of the British ships, transports 
and men-of-war, lying within the bar ; a beautiful, 
threatening sight, with their forest of masts and spars 



90 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

lined against the flush that spread in the eastern 
sky from the setting sun. Perhaps he shook his 
head more than once over the formidable array of 
force. 

But evidently he was more interested in supper, 
for he left his post for a moment presently and trudged 
through the sand to the fire. " Smoked chicken ? " 
he grumbled. *' Smoked chicken ? Is that what 
you're tryin' to cook over yon fire ? If not, why 
don't you put on some wood ? " 

" Patience, Stephen," laughed one of the men, who 
seemed to be the cook. " Ain't the night hot enough 
without building up a great fire to show the bloody- 
backs where we are in case they take a fancy to fire 
a shot at us ? The chicken'll be done, and likewise 
the potatoes, soon enough. Do you keep to your 
post, and leave us to mind our affairs with the vict- 
uals." 

" 'Tis all well enough to tell me to stick to my 
post, but 'tis not so pleasant doing it with my waist- 
coat sticking to my backbone for the lack of some- 
thing hot in my stomach," retorted the sentry. 

'' Something hot, is it ? " laughed another. " You 
are like to have something hot on the morrow in the 
shape of a British cannon-ball, so what's the odds 
now, a bite of chicken or two ? 'Twould be a waste 
of good food, say I, to cram a man who is like to be 
shot on the morrow." 

" Then speak for yourself," snapped Stephen, tak- 
ing up his gun again and moving back toward the 



ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 91 

water, " for you are as like as the next to be fed on 
British iron ; although 'tis more likely, to my way of 
thinking, that you will have it in the back than in 
the stomach." 

There was a burst of rough mirth at the jest, which 
was taken in good part by the victim of it, there be- 
ing no room for doubt that he was as brave in fight 
as any of them. 

" To-morrow's the day, then, think you ? " said a 
soldier, when the laugh had died out. 

'* Nay, we can only guess as to that," replied the 
one to whom he spoke. " For my part, I am puzzled 
to see why the British have not struck long ago. 
'Tis now nigh a month since their fifty ships came 
into our waters, and they have done little more than 
come inside the bar, and land a handful of troops on 
a sand-bar, where they can go neither one way nor 
t' other." 

" We ought to thank our lucky stars for that, for 
if they had struck at once the}^ would have found us 
but ill-prepared to withstand them in a half-finished 
fort." 

" And a half-finished fort it is still, when you come 
to that," spoke a voice from behind the palmetto 
where their guns rested. 

The men started up at sound of it, and peered 
through the smoke of their fire to see who it was 
that came on them so unexpectedly. 

" Ah, Sergeant Jasper ! " cried one of the number, 
perceiving the face of the newcomer, as he ap- 



92 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

proached the fire. *' What's afoot ? What news of 
the fort, then ? " 

" Little news, except that it grows ; but it still has 
a long way to grow," replied Sergeant Jasper, coming 
to a stand in the thickest part of the smoke. " All 
day long have I been shouldering palmetto logs into 
place, and filling behind them with sand. One of 
the traverses was found to be tottering weak as an 
old man. But the platforms are ready, and the front 
walls stout, so that, with the help of God, we may 
hope to give a good account of ourselves." 

" For my part," quoth one of the number, ** I 
think Colonel Moultrie, if I may make so bold, blun- 
dered when he seized upon the palmetto for his walls. 
'Tis well known that the wood is as soft as sponges, 
and what chance has it against the solid balls of the 
enemy's guns ? " 

" The best chance in life," returned Jasper. " The 
iron balls will only sink into the soft wood, without 
cracking or splitting it, so that the more balls the 
enemy lodge there, the stronger will be the wall, for 
it will be made of iron, my man." 

" What brings you. Sergeant Jasper?" asked an- 
other, jovially. 

" I have had my fill of working shoulder to shoulder 
with negroes from the plantations, and I came to 
seek a clean breath with a white man," replied the 
man from the fort 

" Draw out of the smoke, then, and take pot luck 
with us. We have a fine plump hen which came our 



ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 93 

way this afternoon to make a sacrifice of fierself on 
the altar of liberty ; and, since you have been so much 
with the negroes to-day, you shall have a bit of the 
breast, which is good white meat, if there ever was 
any." 

The remark passed current for a merry quip. 
Sergeant Jasper, laughing quietly, withdrew from the 
smoke of the fire, where he had sought shelter from 
the mosquitoes that were beginning to buzz, and sat 
down with the others, while the one who acted as 
cook drew the chicken from its spit and cut away 
chunks of it with a dagger, passing the bits around 
to his comrades on the point of the weapon. 

" Think you they will begin the ball to-morrow, 
Sergeant Jasper ? " a soldier asked, as they ate. 

"That who can tell?" replied the other. "They 
have waited well-nigh thirty days, from which we 
should argue that they will wait no longer, or that 
they will wait thirty more." 

" If it were not for biding another month in this 
dog's hole of an island, I could well wish it was the 
latter," observed one. 

" Why so ? You like not the prospect of a fight, 
then?" 

" Aye, merrily, I like that well enough. But I 
would rather that the fort was well ready first." 

" Have no fear for the fort ; it will be ready 
enough." 

" Aye, but the bridge," spoke up another. '* What 
of the bridge ? It is scarcely well begun yet ; which 



94 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

is to say, the new one, for the other was of no value, 
as was well shown when General Armstrong sent two 
hundred men along it, and it sank with them to their 
necks." 

" Who talks of bridge ? " cried Jasper, indignantly. 
" What bridge would you have ? " 

" Why, a bridge to the mainland, to be sure. 
Else how can we retreat ? We shall be cut off like 
a fox in a fence, else." 

" We shall have no need to retreat ! " cried Jasper, 
"If you are so bent upon making yourself safe, you 
would best be off before the fun begins." 

" Nay, not so," returned the other. " I am as 
willing to stand up as the next man. But 'tis no 
more than good military tactics to have a road for 
retreat, in case something untoward happens. All 
good generals say as much, and Lee himself has 
more than once pressed upon Colonel Moultrie to 
build a bridge." 

" We shall have no need of a bridge," Jasper in- 
sisted. " And as for General Lee, were it not an un- 
civil thing to speak so of your commanding officer, 
I should say that he was like a frightened old woman 
in this whole matter. He has a fear of redcoats 
which, thanks be to God, is not shared by us who are 
going to fight against them. He believes that we 
shall make but a poor showing against them, having 
told Colonel Moultrie more than once that we can- 
not hold out ; and were it not for John Rutledge, 
our sturdy governor, he would have had us with- 



ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 95 

drawn from here long ere this, and the enemy would 
even now be making merry in our streets, belike." 

" Aye, so they would ; and did you hear what 
passed between him and Moultrie but a few days 
back ? " interposed one of the group. 

" What was that ? " 

" Why, the general said, said he : * When those 
ships lay alongside this fort they will knock it down 
in half an hour.' * Then,' said Moultrie, ' we will lie 
behind the ruins and prevent their men from land- 
ing.' " 

" Well said, and a brave speech, and so we will," 
shouted a militiaman. 

" Aye, if there be any ruin," Jasper agreed. " But 
there will be none," he went on. 

" How many ships may they have to bring against 
us? Is it known ?" 

" Seven, I think. Two of them, the Bristol on 
which Commodore Peter Parker commands, and the 
Experiment are of fifty guns. The others are lighter 
ships, and will give no trouble." 

The talk was interrupted by the arrival of the 
sentry, who had been down the sand a few rods to 
investigate a noise which he thought he had heard 
in the water. " Now, then ! " he cried, " is the sup- 
per ready yet ? " 

" Aye, ready, and eaten, but you may have a bone 
to keep company with that cannon-ball for which 
you have whetted your appetite this night," answered 
the camp cook, holding toward him the bare re- 



96 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

mains of the bird. " And here is a slice of potato 
to keep the bird in victuals while it is waiting," he 
went on, holding up the round-bottomed saucepan, 
in which a few scraps of sweet potatoes still re- 
mained. 

Stephen, in a great rage, was for giving the cook a 
cuff, but was prevented by another soldier, who had 
saved aside the sentry's share, and now presented it 
to him with a good laugh all round. 

" Why they picked out this pest hole to build a 
fort in is more than I can see," observed one of the 
men, when quiet had returned. " There is a swamp 
in the very center of the works, and such a jungle 
of palmettos and underbrush all about that one can 
scarcely find his way without sinking into a bog or 
being bitten by a moccasin." 

*' Or a mosquito, which doubtless is as evil for 
your way of thinking," retorted Sergeant Jasper, 
pulling out his pipe and filling it. *• Forts are not 
built like houses, according to the beauty of the site," 
he went on, after a pause in which he had lighted 
his pipe with the coal end of one of the brands in the 
fire. " You build a fort where it is necessary to 
build a fort, and not where it will look pretty, or 
where the living is nice. And as for this fort, it 
could not be in a better place to control the harbor ; 
for, look you, no fleet could get to the city without 
passing us. And still, your friend Charles Lee was 
for having us clear out and leave the ground for the 
enemy ! " 



ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 97 

" Let us hope his fears are not on good ground," 
returned the soldier, who felt that a defense of the 
commander-in-chief had been thrust upon him. " If 
we are all cut off, it will be through no fault of his." 

" It will be through fault of ours," retorted Jasper. 
" There is only one thing I fear." 

*• And what is that ? " 

" I fear there is not enough powder in the fort. 
But for all that," he went on, rising to go, " we shall 
do the best we can, and shall render a good account 
of ourselves, never fear. And perhaps another day 
will read the riddle. So good-night, my lads, and a 
soft sleep for all of you. I must back to the fort." 

Leaving one man to keep watch of the water-side, 
and throw grass and mold on the fire from time to 
time to smudge out the mosquitoes, which had be- 
come more and more annoying as the evening set- 
tled, the others drew their blankets about them and 
lay down in the drift of the smoke to sleep. The 
sound of busy laborers at the fort came to their 
drowsy ears as they passed into slumben 

All night long the work continued, as it had for 
many days and nights. Those in the fort knew that 
not many days would be left them in which to make 
preparation. They had done much, the fort was 
already stout and thick ; but there were many last 
touches which they wished to give it. 

They were still at work on it the next morning, the 
morning of June 28th, when Sergeant Jasper, who 
had climbed to the top of the parapet to set free the 



98 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



flag, which had become entangled with the halliards, 
called out to Colonel Moultrie that the enemy ap- 
peared to be making ready to move. 

Clambering up beside him, with three or four 
officers, Moultrie beheld litde blossoms of white 
breaking out on the lofty yards of the men-of-war ; 
saw the blossoms blow into great tossing flowers of 
sail, saw the sails being sheeted home. Over the 
water, borne on the breeze which came from the ships, 
they heard the chantey of sailors heaving anchor, and 
the orders of mates shouted through trumpets to the 
sailors alow and aloft. It was quite true that the 
enemy were active ; but whether they were coming 
against the fort, or bent on some other expedition, 
remained to be seen. 

Moultrie, however, was not going to take any 
chances. He glanced up at the flagstaff to make 
sure that the flag was all right. It was nothing but 
a bit of blue bunting, on which had been sewn a white 
crescent ; but it meant much. It meant, floating 
there at the top of the staff, all that they were fight- 
ing for. It meant to them liberty, and freedom, and 
human rights. 

" Is the flag all right, sergeant ? " he asked. 

"All right, sir," replied Sergeant Jasper. 

" Good," said Moultrie, and clambered down into 
the work again. 

Five minutes later the last batch of negro laborers 
had been withdrawn from working on the walls, and 
the garrison was bustling to its post. Cannon 



ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 99 

matches were lighted ; guns were loaded ; balls were 
brought and laid beside the pieces ; powder was 
stored in small quantities under the platforms where 
the guns stood, ready for quick speech if the enemy- 
came that way. Soldiers and sailors — there were 
many sailors in the fort who had enlisted when the 
British closed the sea to them by blockading the port 
— stripped themselves of their coats and shirts, ready 
for a warm fight. For the June sun was already 
burning hot in the sky, and the moist sea air was 
sweltering. 

Sergeant Jasper served at one of the guns on the 
sea front of the fort. The embrasure of the gun, 
through which it pointed at the enemy, was near the 
flagstafif, and was therefore likely to be more ex- 
posed to the fire of the enemy than the others. That 
is probably one reason why Sergeant Jasper was 
placed there ; for his courage and coolness were 
well known. He was the sort of young fellow that 
every one depended on, without knowing quite 
why ; often without knowing that they did depend 
on him. 

As he stood by his gun, looking through the em- 
brasure at the British fleet, he was fascinated by the 
sight. The great white sails billowed and filled high 
above the hulls of the ships. He could see the rows 
of guns, grim-muzzled, thrust through the ports ; 
not a reassuring sight, when one thought they would 
soon be throwing iron balls at him. The fifty-gun 
ships looked huge enough to topple the fort over in 



lOO REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

one blast. Jasper had never been shot at by a can- 
non before ; he found himself wondering how it 
would seem. 

Any doubt about the intentions of Sir Peter Parker 
did not long remain. The vessels, swinging for a 
moment in the wind, caught the breeze in their sails 
and came floating down toward the fort, scarcely 
bobbing to the low swell swung in from the sea. A 
tension ran through the garrison ; men tightened 
their belts and wiped their mouths nervously. The 
man next to Jasper heaved an unconscious sigh. 
The sergeant, smiling, laid a hand on his bare 
shoulder. " We'll give it to them pretty soon, lad," 
he said. The other smiled back ; his face was white 
and drawn with excitement. 

Slowly, steadily, the vessels drew near. There 
was not a sound ashore. Over the water there came 
the call of boatswains giving orders for the trimming 
of the sails. Now the gunners in the fort could see 
the men on deck, standing at their cannon. Now 
they could see their laces, gazing eagerly at the pal- 
metto wall. Now they could see the planking in the 
vessels' sides ; now they could see the ropes coiled 
on the belaying pins. 

Four hundred yards from the fort the sails van- 
ished from the yards like a cloud scattered by the 
wind. There was a splashing of water about the 
bows of each ship, and the grumble of anchor chains 
running out through hawse-holes. For a space the 
vessels drifted, bringing up in line, broadside on, 



ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING loi 

held in position by spring-lines fastened to the 
anchor cables. 

There was a tense moment of silence. A puff of 
smoke leaped from a forward gun on the Bristol, 
Commodore Parker's flag-ship. The sound of a 
shot rolled across the narrow strip of water, and a 
ball went howling overhead. The echo of the shot 
had not died alongshore when the entire British fleet 
burst into flaming smoke, and the air shook with the 
heavy discharge of the broadside. 

It seemed to Sergeant Jasper for a moment that 
the end of the fort was at hand. The gun platform 
shook and trembled under the heavy blow of the 
hurtling shot. In the next moment he saw that no 
harm had been done. The iron balls had merely im- 
bedded themselves in the palmetto logs, jarring loose 
little rivulets of sand here and there, but dislodging 
nothing important. 

He did not stop for an order to fire ; he did not 
wait to see what others were doing. Springing to 
the breech of the cannon, he dragged the trail to the 
right, bringing the piece in line with the commodore's 
flag-ship, trained it, and nodded to the matchman. 
The match swung down through the air against the 
primer ; there was a lurch and a roar, a swift spout of 
smoke, and the shot went skimming across the 
water. 

"A hit ! " cried one of the gun crew, running for- 
ward with a swab to clean out the gun. " I saw 
splinters." 



102 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

" You've the eyes of a salamander, then, to see 
through such smoke," laughed Jasper ; for the 
British fleet was already enveloped in the smoke 
from their own guns, which left only their spars and 
top hamper visible behind swinging wraiths of gray 
cloud. 

" Steady all," spoke a voice behind them. " Take 
your time, and make every shot count. Aim at the 
two fifty-gun ships ; let the others go." It was 
Colonel Moultrie, walking up and down behind the 
parapet, cool as a farmer bossing a threshing gang. 
His pipe was in his mouth, and his hands under the 
tails of his coat, which he had kept on, despite the 
heat, for the sake of military appearances. 

The fire of the British vessels was rapid and 
incessant. Each second the dull thump of a ball 
sounded against the soft logs out in front, and the 
air was laced with their black traces across the sky. 
" They've got powder to waste, my lads, and let 
them waste it," cried Jasper, with a laugh. " As for 
us, we'll make it count. Steady and slow is the 
word, boys. No hurry. We'll blow them out of the 
water by degrees." 

Steady and slow was the word. To the constant 
roar of the fleet's guns the cannon in the fort an- 
swered deliberately, calmly, pounding away like a 
man with a heavy sledge. The air was full of the 
din of cannon and the softer thump of British shot 
against the works. The first nervousness had worn 
off ; the Americans no longer feared the shot of the 



ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 103 

enemy. Now and then the ripping noise of one of 
their shot tearing through the oak bulwarks came 
down the wind to give them heart in their work. 

Sergeant Jasper was growing warm. The heat of 
the sun was enough, without the heat of his task, 
and the burning powder added to the temperature. 
" Let her cool down, boys," he said, after a time, lay- 
ing his hand on the breech of the piece. 

The crew squatted behind the bulwarks, laughing 
and discussing the effects of their shot. Jasper, re- 
moving his coat, which he had retained out of 
respect to his office, pulled out his pipe, filled it, and 
began to smoke. 

" Look, look ! " cried one of the men, peeping 
through the embrasure, just as Jasper was blowing 
great clouds of smoke from his nostrils in enjoyment 
of his tobacco. 

Glancing through the opening, he saw that the 
Bristol was swinging round in the tide. 

" Quick," he cried. " Load, men, load for your 
lives. We've cut her cables. Quick, and we'll rake 
her." 

They flew about their task, ramming home the 
powder. 

" Grape ! " shouted Jasper. '• Give 'em grape." 

The grape was sent home. 

The Bristol, swinging slowly and helplessly in the 
tide, presented her bow to the fort. Jasper leaned 
over his gun, squinted along the barrel, and nodded. 
" Now, give it to her ! " he exclaimed. 



I04 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

The gun leapt like a dog springing at a throat. 
A dozen others spoke at the same time. As the 
smoke cleared away, Jasper peered out. The Bristol, 
being end on, could not fire, and the breeze had 
swept her decks clear of smoke. Jasper could see 
the havoc that had been wrought. Men were run- 
ning about the flag-ship's decks in consternation. 
Ropes were dangling from their blocks ; several 
yards came down with a run ; the maintopmast, 
tottering like a sick man, plunged overside and 
speared down into the water, dragging with it a mess 
of cordage. 

" Quick ! " cried Jasper. " Give her another ! " 

They gave her another, and another, before the 
British sailors, bending new springs upon their 
cables, swung the ship back into position. 

" Huzza ! Huzza ! " shouted the men in the fort, 
seeing the mischief they had wrought on board the 
commodore's vessel. 

At that moment evil word spread through the 
ranks. Somebody whispered that Clinton's redcoats 
were crossing in boats from Long Island to attack 
the fort in the rear. The men working at the guns 
looked at each other, disheartened for the moment. 

" Never mind them," said Jasper, aiming his piece 
again. " The Pennsylvania boys will take care of 
them. We've our own work to do." 

The fight had not gone much farther when a cry 
of alarm went up from the right bastion of the fort. 
Three of the British vessels, slipping along under 



ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 105 

cover of the smoke, were seen emerging from the 
end of the British hne and making for the rear of 
the works, where the walls had not been com- 
pleted. 

If they gained that position it would go hard with 
the defenses. There were few guns there, and those 
in position were poorly protected. The enemy 
would be able to pour in a cross fire ; perhaps they 
would be able to clear the gun platforms. 

Jasper, seeing the danger, swung his gun, but it 
would not bear. The embrasure was too narrow to 
permit him to bring it far enough to one side. He 
let fall an exclamation of annoyance, and stood 
watching the result of the maneuver. 

As he looked he gave aery of delight. " They've 
fouled ! " he shouted. " They've fouled ! They've 
made a mess of it." 

It was true. Two of the ships were stuck together, 
the bowsprit of one interlacing with the rigging of 
the other's mainmast. Men were already busy, un- 
der what fire could be brought to bear, chopping 
away the bowsprit. They had no time now to fight ; 
the helpless vessels were drifting with the tide. 

" And the other is aground ! " shouted Jasper, with 
delight. 

She had ceased to move, although the wind still 
filled her sails and the tide ran strong about her 
stern, urging her on. She was fast on a bar. 

" They're done for," said Jasper. " We'll go out 
and take possession of 'em this afternoon, when the 



io6 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

others have had enough. If they don't take care, 
they'll all be in the same fix." 

All this time the fire from the other British ships 
had not slackened, and the hail of iron missiles still 
rattled against the logs. But the Americans did not 
mind it in the least any more. They worked their 
guns quietly, without hurry, taking careful aim, and 
firing at long intervals, preserving their powder. 
The end was almost certain now. Unless Clinton 
managed to get ashore with his troops and take 
the fort in the rear, the British were as good as 
whipped. 

An hour passed, and no word of Clinton. The 
dread of him was on the minds of all, but no one 
showed his dread. Colonel Moultrie, with his officers, 
loitered about within the fort, going hither and yon 
with a word of praise and courage for the fighting 
men, making a holiday of it. 

It was no holiday on the British ship. Nearly 
every shot from the fort found its mark. The decks 
were strewn with the mangled dead ; shrieks of an- 
guish arose from the cockpits, where the surgeons 
tended the wounded. Spars were rattling down 
from aloft, cut by the deadly fire of the patriots. The 
tops were not habitable ; the marines had been with- 
drawn after the first few minutes of fire. Great holes 
were opening up in the hulls ; carpenters were busy 
making repairs, and sailors were bending to the 
pumps. Sir Peter Parker was below in the hands of 
the surgeons, with one arm gone. The commander 



ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 107 

of the Experimeuty the other fifty-gun ship, was in 
similar case. All was merry in the fort. 

But not so merry ! What was the meaning of 
that cry of disappointment and dismay that pierced 
the heavy reverberation of the guns? Why that 
shout of anger that arose from the throats of half the 
garrison, spreading among them like a wind among 
pine-needles in a mountain forest ? 

A glance showed Sergeant Jasper what was wrong. 
Up on the parapet, where the bit of bunting with a 
crescent on blue ground had been floating serenely 
all this time, there was nothing left but a shattered 
stump of a flagstaff. The flag was nowhere to be 
seen. 

The British on board the ship had observed the 
mishap. They were setting up a shout of victory ; 
they believed the enemy had struck. 

"Where's the flag?" demanded Jasper, his face 
setting in a look of determination. 

** In the ditch," answered one of the gunners. "It 
fell outside." 

Before any one was aware of what he was about, 
Jasper had clambered through the embrasure and 
sprung into the ditch. The fire in the fort ceased ; 
men stood at their guns craning their necks and 
straining their eyes, watching for him to come 
back. 

But the fire in the British ships did not slacken. 
It increased ; it redoubled. The air seemed solid 
with the swarm of shot that rushed upon the fort. It 



io8 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

seemed that no man could live through such an iron 
storm. Those in the fort deplored the mad reck- 
lessness that had led Sergeant Jasper out into it. 
Everybody liked Jasper ; they exchanged condolences 
with each other over him. 

Still, they waited, hoping against hope that he 
would return. None dared peer over the works to 
see how he fared ; the fire was too fierce and deadly. 
They only waited, staring at the place where he had 
gone. 

A hand, appearing above the edge of the parapet, 
clutched over a log. Another hand took place 
alongside. In the second hand was something blue ; 
a bit of bunting. 

Another instant, and the tousled head of Sergeant 
Jasper emerged from behind the parapet, and was 
lifted higher and higher. Presently one elbow 
crooked ; a leg flew up and curled over the top log ; 
the body of the sergeant appeared ; clambered to the 
top, and stood upright. He had climbed the logs on 
the face of the wall, as you climb a fence. 

He looked about, saw the stump of the flagstaff, 
and walked up to it, cool as a school-teacher. The 
air was thick with screaming shot. He paid no 
heed. He reached the staff, examined it, spread out 
the flag, and shook his head. 

" Pass me up a swab," he said, quietly, to one of 
the gunners at his own gun. 

The man handed him the cannon sponge. With- 
out the least haste, Jasper took it, stretched the edge 



ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 109 

of the flag along the staff of it, studied for a moment, 
and shook his head again. He could not make out 
the best way to fasten it. 

Presently, before the eyes of the entire garrison 
and all the men on the British vessels, he began to 
twist the halliards around the shaft of the sponge, 
tied a couple of knots, tested them with a pull at the 
bit of bunting, found them good, and shook his head 
again. The air was alive with yelling cannon-balls ; 
it seemed to those who watched that he must be 
knocked into the sky the next instant. 

Shaking the bit of bunting to the breeze as he 
went, he walked to the edge of the parapet, thrust 
the end of the sponge staff into the sand, straightened 
it, bore down heavily on it, gave it a shake to see 
that it was firm, walked back to the embrasure of his 
gun, and slid to the platform. " Come, now, load 
up," he said, easily. " You're wasting time." 

A great shout went up from the fort, answered by 
a huzza from the ships. Anglo-Saxon blood could 
not witness such a deed, even on the part of an 
enemy, and remain silent. It was the involuntary 
tribute of brave men for a brave act. 

Sergeant Jasper, trying to hide a look of conscious 
pride, bent over his gun and sighted it again. 

When he straightened up, a hand was laid on his 
arm, and he turned to look into the sparkling eyes 
of Colonel Moultrie. " Bravo, Jasper, bravo I " cried 
his commander. 

That was all ; but that was enough. 



no REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

" What news of Clinton ? " asked the sergeant, 
avoiding an embarrassing subject. 

Moultrie grinned. " He didn't try it," he replied. 
" Got half of his men in boats, and took them out 
again." 

" Remembers Bunker Hill, I reckon," commented 
the sergeant. 

" I reckon," was all that Moultrie said, as he turned 
away to see how things went elsewhere. 

There is no need to tell more. All through the 
long day, and until evening spread over the waters, 
the fight went on as it had gone on from the begin- 
ning, with the British suffering fearfully from the 
well-aimed shots of the patriots, and the Americans 
scarcely touched. Only one gun was dismounted ; 
and but a score of men killed and wounded. If the 
powder had held out the British fleet must inevitably 
have been destroyed or captured, for they were 
caught where they were, unable to stir until even- 
ing because of wind and tide. They could only 
fight hopelessly. As it was, when they finally with- 
drew, only one of the ten vessels was fit for sea. 
The Bristol had lost two masts and was full of shot 
holes ; the Experiment had fared little better. The 
Acteo7tf the one that had gone aground in the effort to 
come up on the flank of the fort, was burned by the 
British that night. As soon as they could make 
ready for sea, the British fleet left Charleston, to- 
gether with the transports carrying the regulars, 



R 



ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING iii 

and for two years no British were seen in those 
parts. 

As for Jasper ; there are many more things that 
might be told of him — how he harried the foe 
through many days and nights as one of Marion's 
men, performing numerous brave deeds, and win- 
ning a name up and down, among friends and foes, 
that any one might envy — but it is all another story. 
It was the adventure with the bit of bunting that has 
made him famous, and that will keep him so as long 
as young Americans are proud of their country and 
the courageous struggle that gained it for their her- 
itage. 



CHAPTER V 
THE SCHOOLMASTER ^ 

Mother Johnson propped herself up m bed on 
an elbow and poked her sleeping husband. " Will- 
iam," she said. " William ! There's somebody at 
the door." 

William Johnson turned heavily. " Can't be, at 
this time of night," he grunted. 

" I tell you there is," his wife insisted. " Listen." 

The sound of a loud knocking echoed through the 
house. Johnson sat up abruptly. " Some drunken 
redcoat from the Widow Chick's, I reckon," he 
grumbled. " I'll fix him." 

He tumbled out of bed and fumbled about for his 
clothes. 

" Be careful what you do, William," pleaded Mrs. 
Johnson. " Don't get the British soldiers down on 
us, whatever you do." 

" Oh, you leave that to me," rejoined her good- 
man, a bit sharply, not pleased to be turned out of 
his bed at that time of night. 

The knocking was repeated. 

" Hold your noise, can't you? " shouted William, 
through the window. " Can't you see that I'm com- 
ing as fast as I can ? " 

Anybody might have known that the stranger at 



THE SCHOOLMASTER 113 

the door could not have seen through three walls 
and a floor, even if it had been broad daylight, in- 
stead of three o'clock in the morning, but Johnson 
was not in a humor to consider little circumstances 
like that. 

" I beg your pardon," came a low, firm voice from 
the front of the house. " I thought you hadn't heard 
me." 

It was neither the voice nor the manner of a 
drunken soldier. Johnson, prompted by curiosity, 
poked his head through the window for a view of 
the one who had got him out of bed. *' What do 
you want here at this time of night?" he demanded, 
a bit annoyed at having his guess proved false. He 
could see nothing but the shadow of a man at the 
front door. 

" I want a bed, sir, if you will be so good," came 
the response. 

" Why don't you go to the Widow Chick's, then ? " 
growled Johnson. " She keeps a tavern for travelers 
three-quarters of a mile up the road." 

" I've just been there," the other replied. " She 
has no room. She sent me here, sir. If you would 
be so good as to admit me for the rest of the night I 
shall be under heavy obligations, and shall repay you 
as well as I can in money." 

Farmer Johnson hesitated. 

"Sounds like a nice voice, William," submitted 
Mrs. Johnson, sitting up in bed to listen. " Maybe 
he'd pay us handsome." 



114 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

"Don't like it, howsomever," snapped Johnson, 
drawing his head in and going on with his dressing. 
" Something's wrong, mark my word. No self- 
respecting, law-abiding citizen is going around the 
country at this time of night looking for a bed to sleep 
in. But if you insist, I'll risk my neck and see what 
he wants." 

" You can't tell much about things in these times 
of war," his wife endeavored to console him. "Things 
is so irregular now, with the British running all over 
Long Island, and nobody knowing who's a friend 
and who's a foe." 

" Shut your head, will you ? " jerked Johnson. 
" What are you blabbin' about friend and foe for, 
when everybody is our friend, and nobody is our 
foe ? " 

" I'm sorry, William," she apologized. " I didn't 
mean no harm, and nobody could have heard me." 

" You can't tell who's hearing you, with the whole 
country overrun with spies and informers. Who's to 
know that this isn't one of them down at the door 
now ? Yes, yes, I'm comin' ! Hold your horses, 
can't you ? " This last shouted toward the window, 
in response to another timid knock that sounded on 
the door. 

" I beg your pardon, sir," spoke the stranger. 
" I didn't know whether you had decided to let me 
in or not, and thought from your silence that you 
were going to exclude me from the shelter of your 
home." 



THE SCHOOLMASTER 115 

" Talks fine, doesn't he ? " observed Mrs. Johnson, 
admiringly. " Wonder if he's an officer. Maybe it's 
a general, William. Maybe it's General Howe him- 
self 1 " she concluded, her voice rising with the climax 
in her guessing. 

" Likely 'tis I " snarled Johnson, sarcastically. 
" Maybe it's King George ! . . . Well, good-bye, 
and if the fellow chooses to shoot me through and 
run off with all there is in the house, you'll have 
only yourself to thank for making me let him in." 

With which gracious speech William Johnson, 
snatching a candle from the mantel-shelf, left the 
room and made off down the stairs, holding his half- 
buttoned clothes about him as he went. He stopped 
in the kitchen on the way, to light his candle in the 
coals still smouldering on the hearth, and approached 
the front door at last with great caution, holding the 
fluttering flame high above his head and peering 
into the panels of the door as though he would have 
seen through them to make certain of the character 
of the midnight visitor before throwing the portal 
open to him. 

" Who are you, and what do you want ? " he de- 
manded again, as he laid finger on the latch. 

'* I've just come over from the mainland," replied 
the visitor. '* I am in search of employment, but I 
don't know the way well, and if you could put me 
up, sir, until morning, I should be greatly obliged." 

" You hain't got a gun, have ye?" queried John- 
son, doubtfully. 



ii6 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

'• No weapon of any kind, I assure you," laughed 
the other. 

" You mustn't mind my being careful," apologized 
the farmer, relenting to the soft voice of the traveler. 
" In these times of war, with the country full of red- 
coats, a man must look out for himself." 

" I understand. . . . Pray let me in. It is 
rather chilly out here, although it is still September." 

"All right, sir," quoth Johnson. With that he 
threw the latch and swung the door wide. 

As he did so a gust of wind swept through the 
opening, fluttering the candle and at last snatching 
the flame from the wick, leaving them both in dark- 
ness. In the brief view he had had of the stranger 
the farmer saw a man a little above the average 
height, well built, straight, erect, dressed in the velvet 
knickers and black velvet coat of a schoolmaster, 
with white lace at the cuffs and throat, and a broad- 
brimmed black felt hat on his head. Although his 
appearance was reassuring, Johnson slammed the 
door hurriedly in his face while he ran off to get an- 
other light. He was taking no chances. 

He was rather ashamed of his action, however, on 
second thought, and was full of explanations when he 
returned with the lighted candle. " The door must 
have blown shut," he protested. " Just come right 
into the kitchen, and I'll poke up the fire a bit for 
ye. 'Tis right sharp out, and that's a fact. Had no 
idea the nights were getting so cold." He rattled on 
in this strain as he led the stranger into the kitchen. 



THE SCHOOLMASTER 117 

" We are like to have an early winter, and a severe 
one," observed the traveler, making himself at home 
in an armchair near the fire. 

" Hard on the soldiers," returned Johnson, bus- 
tlingc about. " Will you care for a glass of rum or 
spirits ? There is some fine old cider in the wood- 
shed." 

His guest refused. " Isn't that rather a risky 
place to keep cider, with soldiers all about ? " he 
laughed. 

Johnson, giving the fire three or four lusty pokes, 
leered at him shrewdly. " If any of 'em find where I 
hid it, they're welcome to it," he chuckled. " Would 
you like a bite to eat ? " 

" To tell you the truth, I am hungry, and if you 
can find me a snack of something it would be grate- 
ful," confessed the traveler. " But do not put your- 
self to any inconvenience." 

Johnson looked at the clock. " I'll call my woman," 
he said. *' Half-past three now ; time to get up in 
another hour, anyway." 

In spite of the schoolmaster's considerate protests 
the farmer cried out up the stairs for his wife to dress 
and come down ; which she did with a celerity that 
suggested that she had for some time been making 
preparations to descend. 

" From the mainland, be ye ? " quizzed Johnson, 
when his wife was bustling about getting a breakfast 
for their visitor. 

" Yes ; Connecticut." 



ii8 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

" Aha ! How's things over there ? " 

" How do you mean, sir ?" returned the school- 
master, pretending not to understand. " What 
things do you mean ? " 

" Oh, just things. What do the people think 
about it all ? " 

"They are pretty much excited; they are all 
stirred up." 

" Aha. Are they for us, or against us ? " 

The schoolmaster smiled. "That depends upon 
whom we are for, and against," he fenced. 

" Of course ; of course. But I guess you know 
what I mean, don't you? You are loyal, ain't 
you?" 

" I left Connecticut by night and stole across the 
sound because my known views and sympathies 
were beginning to make it inconvenient, if not impos- 
sible, for me to remain there," replied the stranger- 
" I came to Long Island in order to be near the 
British, and under their protection, if necessary." 

" Soho ! " whistled Johnson. " Well, you have 
come to a good place. The woods are full of 'em 
here." 

"They are encamped near here, I understand?" 
queried the other. 

" Five miles south of here, and up at the Cedars. 
Thousands of them. You'll find plenty of 'em any 
night at Widow Chick's, hard by here ; and others 
who are friends, howbeit they are not soldiers in the 
army." 



THE SCHOOLMASTER 119 

" Loyalists ? " 

" Aye ; loyalists, and a plenty of 'em. Wife and 
I, we're loyalists, but we don't mix much, finding it 
better to mind our own affairs as much as we can, as 
we never know when Washington may be back here 
with his regiments to make things lively for those 
who have been too kind to the British." 

"Small chance of that, I fancy," returned the 
schoolmaster. " If reports are true, Washington is 
in straitened circumstances along the Hudson, above 
New York." 

" In a bad fix, is he ? " 

"I couldn't say that. He has many thousand 
men determined to fight to the death, all well armed 
and drilled, but since their defeat on Long Island 
they have lacked spirit, in spite of the absurd mani- 
festo that their Continental Congress put out on 
July 4th." 

"You mean what they call the Declaration of 
Independence ? " 

" Yes." 

"Washington is a sly one, though, isn't he?" 
Johnson went on, his eyes lighting up. " The way 
he slipped away from General Howe when Howe 
thought he had him boxed up on Long Island Heights 
was something rich, in a way, even if we did want to 
see him bagged." 

" Aye, and he is quite likely to repeat the per- 
formance, unless Howe moves quickly," the school- 
master returned. " Why doesn't Howe move ? 



120 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

What is he contemplating, that he does not strike at 
once, and for all? " 

"You'll have to ask Howe," said Johnson, shaking 
his head. 

The serving of breakfast, piping hot, put an end 
to their talk. The schoolmaster, falling to with a 
right good appetite, had soon disposed of his food, 
and asked to be shown to his bed. " You might call 
me a couple of hours after sunrise, if you will," he 
said, when Johnson left him. 

The longer the stranger slept, the more Johnson 
wondered over the adventure of his coming there in 
the middle of the night, saying that he was looking 
for occupation. What manner of occupation should 
a stranger be looking for in a country torn with 
civil war ? he puzzled. There was something strange 
behind it all ; something that Johnson wanted very 
much to ferret out, to satisfy a rustic curiosity. The 
two hours which he allowed his guest for sleep after 
sunrise were cut rather short because of this curiosity. 

But when he pressed the man with questions, the 
most he could get out of him was that he wanted to 
find a school to teach in some loyal district, where 
he would not be compelled to utter doctrines offen- 
sive to his views of the struggle then going on 
between the colonies and the mother country. The 
fact looked reasonable enough on the surface, but 
behind it all, in the manner of the schoolmaster's 
answers, in his avoiding anything definite about his 



THE SCHOOLMASTER 121 

former employments, and in the circumstance that he 
had not mentioned his name, although pointedly 
asked for it more than once, Johnson saw much that 
set him to scratching his head in thought. He was 
half minded to follow the fellow when he finally took 
his leave, and would have done so, if there had not 
been matters of importance demanding his attention 
in the hay-field. But by dinner time he had so far 
swung back toward an easier view of the experience 
that the chatter of his wife, upon whom the stranger's 
gracious manners and genteel speech had made an 
impression, quite disarmed him of any suspicion. 

If he had followed the schoolmaster whom he had 
entertained mysteriously over night, he would have 
seen a number of things which would not only have 
quickened all his doubts, but would have put him in 
some fear because of his own connection, however 
innocent it was, with the stranger. For the well- 
knit young man in the black hat and knickers had 
no more than got out of sight along the road than 
he stopped, glanced slyly up and down to see that 
he was not observed, crawled through a broken rail 
fence, and struck out across hills and pastures south- 
ward, in the direction of the British camp five miles 
away. 

Now and then, as he traveled, the schoolmaster 
stopped on the crest of a hill to make a survey 
of the land with a critical eye. Once, sitting down 
on a stone, he took out a bit of thin paper and 
traced some lines on it ; lines that would have had 



122 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



little meaning to one not familiar with the first 
sketches of those who draw maps. 

Reaching the camp at last, the schoolmaster ex- 
plained his situation to the sentry who halted him, 
and was sent under guard to the officer of the day, 
wlio received him cordially, congratulating him on 
his proper view of the trouble in the colonies, and 
promising him whatever help he could give in find- 
ing a place to teach school. " Though, bless your 
heart," he went on, " I fear you will fare ill enough. 
The country people are so distraught by the pres- 
ence of war among them, and so scattered in their 
wits, that they have little thought of schooling their 
children, even if there were a chance for peace and 
quiet. And, what's more, I fear me your little 
rogues would be truant most of the time, for we 
find them much given to lingering about the camp 
listening to the marvelous tales with which our 
grenadiers fill their ears ; an employment, I warrant 
you, far less profitable than sitting quietly at school 
at the feet of a master learning their A B C's ; 
although, you will grant me, more fascinating to the 
young fancy." 

Taking leave of the talkative officer with many 
thanks, the schoolmaster set out once more on his 
bootless errand, this time turning toward the western 
end of the island, where there was even less chance 
of his sort of employment than in the spot where he 
then was ; for the western end was more overrun 
than this with British and Hessian soldiers, with 



THE SCHOOLMASTER 123 

camps and forts. Nevertheless, thither he turned his 
steps, with a countenance lacking in guile, and de- 
noting cheer and good hope. 

But there was this to observe about his manner of 
walking through the camp, and out along the road. 
Although to one who did not look closely he seemed 
to be going along with eyes to the front, lost in 
rumination over some abstract doctrine in philoso- 
phy or a question in higher mathematics, on close 
inspection it might have been seen that his eyes were 
never still from roving from side to side of the way, 
peering deep into distances, noting trivial details of 
his surroundings. And there was something atten- 
tive about the expression on his face to denote that 
he was noting down on his memory what he saw ; 
fixing it there, so that it might be laid hold of again. 
Strange behavior for a schoolmaster, seeking a 
peaceful occupation teaching school I And strange 
schoolmaster, to be seeking such occupation there, 
at such a time 1 

Four days later, as the sun was dragging long rays 
across the western hills of Long Island, the school- 
master sat on a log in a little gully not far from the 
tavern kept by the Widow Chichester — Mother 
Chick, as Farmer Johnson called her. The gully 
was in an odd nook of the hills, far from the road. 
It was sheltered by a thick growth of oaks and 
maples along its brim. The log itself was heavily 
screened by underbrush. 



124 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



Seated on the log, the schoolmaster drew from an 
inner breast pocket a number of bits of thin paper, 
similar to the one on which he had sketched a map 
the first day of his appearance on the island. Lay- 
ing the papers on the ground, where he secured 
them with a small stone, he began to unbuckle his 
shoe. He looked about him cautiously before he 
pulled it off when the buckle was unfastened. Mak- 
ing certain that he was unobserved, he drew it from 
his foot, took it in one hand, and thrust the other 
within. Presently his hand emerged, holding in its 
fingers a leather sole, cut to fit the inside of the shoe. 
Snatching up the papers which he had laid on the 
ground, the schoolmaster thrust them into the shoe, 
slipped the sole back, smoothed it out, put the shoe 
on, stamped his foot well into it, fastened the buckle, 
arose, and made his way out of the gully, turning at 
the brink in the direction of Mother Chick's. 

Strange behavior for a schoolmaster, in search of 
a chance to teach the children of Tories that King 
George was anointed by God to rule the English- 
speaking people, and that all notions of liberty and 
the rights of men to rule themselves were arrant non- 
sense that ought to be punished ! What should he 
be doing with a shoe having a false bottom ? What 
should he be doing with thin slips of paper which he 
concealed with such secret care in that novel hiding- 
place ? What manner of schoolmaster was he, wan- 
dering up and down Long Island in the midst of 
British soldiers after this fashion ? 



THE SCHOOLMASTER 125 

Half an hour later a company of British officers 
and neighborhood Tories, gathered together in 
Mother Chick's tap-room for a carousal, were struck 
with much mirth at the appearance in their midst of 
a simple looking person, dressed in black knickers, 
and a black coat, with lace at cuffs and collar^ and 
wearing a broad-brimmed felt hat of black. 

" What, ho, parson I " sang out one lusty fellow, 
already in his cups, thwacking the table mightily 
with an empty tankard. " Hast come to preach, or 
to fortify thy spirit for this earth with some of the 
rare spirits which good Dame Chichester furnishes 
forth at her tap ? " 

" Hold your uncivil tongue, Duncan," shouted an- 
other. " 'Tis no preacher, by my troth, but the 
schoolmaster I told you of, who came seeking a 
chance to teach in these parts." The one who spoke 
was the officer to whom the stranger had been con- 
ducted by the sentry on the first day, in the camp 
five miles south, 

"Teach, is it!" roared the other, with a great 
laugh. " We'll teach him that we do all the teach- 
ing that is to be taught in these parts in times like 
these. Here, school-teacher, learn from a cup, and 
have done with your sour looks." 

The schoolmaster met the bully's look boldly. " I 
am inclined to the opinion that whatever might be 
learned of you, sir, would be best soon forgot," he 
observed quietly, "And as for your cup, the only 
lesson in that is the lesson which you yourself pre- 



126 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

sent to all who have the misfortune to look upon you 
in your present condition." 

It was a bold speech, but well considered. The 
schoolmaster knew it would set him in favor with the 
company. The others, greatly edified to see their 
roistering companion so bearded by a peace-loving 
schoolmaster, made many gibes at Duncan's ex- 
pense, restraining him from wrecking the wrath of 
which he made a great blustering show, and twitting 
him out of his humor. 

" Nay, comrade," said the officer who had recog- 
nized the stranger, " be not so savage. For the fel- 
low is on our side, as you can well see by his being 
here, and moreover, I am not so certain that his plan 
is not a good one, for, by my troth, I think we are 
more like to subdue these savages over here in 
America by bringing them to some reason through 
the teaching of sound-headed fellows like this than 
we are to be breaking their sconces with swords and 
musket butts." 

They pressed the schoolmaster to drink with them 
in celebration of his defiance of the bully, and of the 
peace that had followed it, but he refused, modestly 
and civilly, protesting that liquor made him ill, and 
that he could not take it without great danger to 
himself. Pacified by his demeanor, they went on 
with their roistering, content to let him sit by in ob- 
servation of it, and forgetting by degrees that he was 
there. 

Thus left more to himself, the stranger loitered 



THE SCHOOLMASTER 127 

about from one group at table to another, exchang- 
ing informal greetings, discussing with this one the 
state of the weather and the prospect of an early and 
severe winter, with its probable effect on the two 
armies, and holding argument with that over the 
position and situation of the British and American 
forces, together with the chances that General Howe 
would be able to crush the patriots before the snow 
flew. Such conversation was common in the room ; 
excepting some of the roisterers, to whom serious 
topics had no present interest, there were few groups 
who did not speak of the war and express themselves 
freely on the tactics that Howe was pursuing, or fail- 
ing to pursue, to get the Yankee general in another 
such box as the one from which Washington had es- 
caped several months before. No notice was taken 
of a schoolmaster who had sought lodgings in the 
tavern, and had joined the party in the tap-room to 
pass away the evening. 

No notice, except by one. One there was whose 
eyes scarcely left the face of the schoolmaster ; who 
followed him from group to group, studying him, 
scanning his features from this angle and that, weigh- 
ing him with his eye, testing the sound of his voice 
with head aside, like one who found in him a re- 
semblance which puzzled. This fellow was a Tory ; 
a strong sympathizer with the English, and a friend 
of a number of the officers. 

He had been watching the mysterious school- 
master for upward of an hour in this fashion, when 



128 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

he went to the table where the officers were sitting 
of whom Duncan and the schoolmaster's chance ac- 
quaintance were two. Drawing a chair behind the 
latter's chair, he leaned over his shoulder and whis- 
pered in his ear. " Do you know who that is, Cap- 
tain Watts ? " he asked. 

'• Who who is ? " bellowed Captain Watts. 

" Hush ; not so loud. That schoolmaster, as you 
think him." 

" Loud I " roared the officer. " I'll be as loud as I 
choose. What is the meaning of all this nose-pok- 
ing mystery hereabout? Who is this schoolmaster, 
then, since you think it so important that I should 
know ? " 

The stranger, hearing himself referred to, glanced 
across the room, and saw the Tory in whispers with 
the captain. 

" Not so loud, I tell you, or all will be lost," went 
on the Tory. " If I mistake not, it is a cousin of 
mine whom I have not seen for many years, by the 
name of Nathan Hale." 

" You have many times shown so little sense that 
it is not strange to me that you do not know your 
own cousin when you see him, William Hale," 
laughed Captain Watts. " And what of this mighty 
cousin of yours, the schoolmaster ? Is he an ogre, 
that we shall all be lost in case he learns that we are 
speaking of him ? " 

" If it is he, he is a spy," hissed William Hale. 
" For this Nathan Hale is an officer in the Conti- 



THE SCHOOLiMASTER 129 

nental army. He it was who captured the schooner 
with arms and stores in the East River not long ago, 
and he has done many things to endear him to the 
hearts of the desperate fellows with whom he has 
thrown in his lot. He is notorious as a reckless, 
harebrained dare-devil." 

** Tush ! " cried Captain Watts, interrupting him. 
" You have had too much liquor for your own good, 
friend Hale ; and, mark me, you had better leave it 
alone for the rest of the evening, if you are a man, 
and get you off to bed, before you have other visions 
of spies and long-lost cousins. Tush, fellow j away 
with you." 

The schoolmaster, catching a word or two of what 
had passed above the uproar, made his way across 
the room and took a vacant chair at the table of 
roisterers. " Gentlemen," he said, " by your leave, I 
will sit here, in the hope of listening to more edifying 
conversation in such company than has been my for- 
tune elsewhere this evening." As he seated himself 
in the chair, he caught the eye of William Hale, 
whom he stared out of countenance, and the fellow 
slunk off, rebuffed by his friend the captain, and 
thrown in some doubt concerning the surmise that 
had been the topic of his talk. 

" Hail, fellow ; well met ! " cried Captain Watts, 
extending an arm in half-drunken welcome. The 
others took up the shout, even Duncan joining, for- 
getting the affront that had been put upon him at an 
earlier hour in the evening. 



I30 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



•' Methinks that one who does not care for good 
spirits would find more profit in bed," said Duncan, 
lifting a glass. 

The schoolmaster smiled. "There would be litde 
chance of sleep in this house to-night, I fear, with 
such merriment going forward, if one were inclined 
to it," he said. " As for me, I find more pleasure in 
sitting in such lively company, after a day of fatigue 
and disappointment, than I would in bed ; and, al- 
though I cannot partake of the spirits you are 
drinking, I can enjoy the spirit in which it puts 
you." 

The speech set him in good favor all around, and 
he was suffered to sit unmolested where he was, 
while the fun waxed more and more furious. If he 
seemed to listen with interest to the gay tales that 
went back and forth, the quips and jests, the songs 
and anecdotes, his eyes could have been seen to 
light up with a peculiar eagerness whenever the talk 
ran to shop, and the officers discussed the plans of 
campaign which they conjectured Howe was about to 
make. 

But no one noticed that, not even the Tory, Will- 
iam Hale, who lounged about from one table to an- 
other, seeking some ear that would listen to his sus- 
picion about the mild-mannered schoolmaster seated 
at the table with the officers. And if they had, 
would they have considered it strange that a school- 
master, whose trade depended on peace being re- 
stored in those parts, should show a lively interest in 



THE SCHOOLMASTER 131 

the prospects of bringing the war to a close in one 

campaign ? 

Half an hour before daylight the schoolmaster, ex- 
cusing himself, bade farewell to the officers and left 
the tap-room. Reaching the hall, he did not ascend 
the stairs, but turned and went through the front 
door, out into the thick dusk of the night. 

Out in the night he paused to look about him, and 
then moved rapidly toward the Sound. His step 
grew lighter as he proceeded ; he seemed like a man 
who was finding relief from a burden of anxiety. 
Rather a strange circumstance in a schoolmaster who 
had failed in a four days' search to find employment. 

Emerging through a strip of woods, he saw the 
broad sheet of water under the starlight, and gave a 
sigh. Turning to the left, he struck into the woods 
once more. Dawn of day was creeping in from the 
sea ; it was already gray in the east, and a faint flush 
of light showed the way to him among the tree 
trunks, and between bushes. 

Half a mile farther he bent his course until he came 
once more to the shore of the Sound. A mile or so 
beyond where he had broken cover a long, sheer 
headland jutted into the water. The growth of trees 
ceased at the shore line, leaving the promontory bare 
and conspicuous. Already, in the light of coming 
day, it stood forth distinctly against the waters be- 
yond it. Toward this the schoolmaster turned eager 
steps. 



132 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

It was not long before he had gained the outer tip 
of the headland, and was standing on the shore, 
which here broke down from the bluffs behind until 
it was only a few feet above the tide. He gazed 
eagerly across the Sound, searching the flood for 
something ; searching it, without doubt, for a vessel 
that he expected to meet him there. But what should 
a schoolmaster, dissatisfied with the patriot flavor of 
Connecticut, and in search of more agreeable employ- 
ment among Tories, be doing there early on a Sep- 
tember morning, stealthily watching for a craft to 
come from the Connecticut shore ? 

For an hour he stood or sat about on the head- 
land, scarcely taking his eyes from the sheet of water 
before him. The Sound was quite plain now in the 
strengthening light ; he could almost see the land on 
the other side. 

At last, peering intently into the distance, he ut- 
tered an exclamation of gladness. Out on the water 
was a boat, dim and indistinct. It was approaching 
the shore. 

He waited until it was within hailing distance. 
Rising to his feet, he held his curved hands beside 
his mouth and gave a halloo. His eyes quickened 
with a glad light; a look of tension that had be- 
come so habitual on his face that it seemed to be 
a part of him, and so escaped attention, relaxed, 
giving place to an expression of complete and joyous 
relief. 

In the next instant his expression changed again. 



THE SCHOOLMASTER 133 

It became more anxious than it had been ; it grew 
distressed with anxiety. For the men who stood 
up in the craft and sent back his halloo were dressed 
in the uniform of British marines ! 

Why should that have alarmed a Tory schoolmas- 
ter seeking a school among British friends ? The 
question is puzzling ; but the fact that he was alarmed 
was very apparent. He was so alarmed, so suddenly 
overcome by surprise, that, without thinking better 
of the act, he turned and took several steps land- 
ward in a brisk run. 

" Halt ! " came a hail from the barge ; for such it 
was. " Halt, or we fire I " 

He stopped abruptly, realizing his blunder ; know- 
ing that any attempt to escape would be vain if they 
raised an alarm by firing at him, and that it would 
merely make it necessary for him to give explana- 
tions of conduct inconsistent with his character as a 
Tory schoolmaster. He stopped, and returned slowly 
to the waterside. 

The boat drew nearer. Men were in the bow of 
it, eyes fixed on him, consulting with each other. 

" I thought for a moment you were Continentals," 
he shouted, as they drew closer. 

There was an ominous lack of response to his ex- 
planation. The boat grounded, and two men waded 
ashore. " Come aboard," they said. 

He went readily, assuming an air of freedom 
from care, of indifference to the evident suspicion of 
him that was behind their demand. 



134 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

" What did you run for ? " demanded the sergeant 
of marines, who was in charge of the boat's com- 
pany. 

" I told you that I mistook you for Yankees," he 
repeated. 

The fellow scowled at him, and lifted a lip in a 
sneer. " What were you doing out here at this 
time of day ? " he snarled. " Who were you look 
ing for ? " 

The schoolmaster smiled as he replied. *' Is it 
so strange that a man should be taking a stroll by 
the Sound in the early morning ? " he submitted. 

" Yes, it is. Back to the ship, lads," to the crew. 

An hour later the schoolmaster stood in his stock- 
ings in the cabin of the British frigate Acteon, con- 
fronting the captain. On the table between them 
were his shoes. The false sole of one of them lay on 
the table ; about it were strewn thin bits of paper, 
containing writing, and sketches of maps. " I will 
answer no questions," he was saying, calmly. *' I 
beg to be referred to General Howe." 

General Howe was quartered in the old Beekman 
mansion, in New York. There was great excitement 
about headquarters, and through the town, when the 
word went about that a spy had been captured and 
brought before the British commander. The com- 
mander himself was somewhat disturbed as he gazed 
into the handsome face of the young man in black 
velvet knickers and the black coat of a schoolmaster 



THE SCHOOLMASTER 135 

who stood before him, meeting his eyes with a frank, 
honest, brave gaze. 

"What is your name?" asked the EngHshman. 

" Nathan Hale, Heutenant in the Continental army," 
replied the schoolmaster. 

"And what were you doing in our lines ? " pursued 
the general. 

" I was obtaining information for the benefit of the 
commander of the American forces," was the reply. 
There was no tremor of the eyelids, no quiver in his 
voice, as he answered. 

Howe looked at him critically. " You are alive to 
the consequences of your conduct, sir, are you ?" he 
asked. " You are aware of the punishment that is 
meted out to those who steal within an enemy's lines 
for the purpose which you confess was yours ? " 

" Sir," replied Nathan Hale, " there has not been 
a moment since I undertook the task that I have not 
been aware of the consequences that would be visited 
upon me in case I was detected. I was fully aware 
of the responsibility which I assumed, and I have 
nothing to regret except that the object of my so- 
journ among your troops was frustrated when it was 
so near accomplishment." 

" You realize, then, that there is no hope for you ? " 
went on the British commander. " You realize that 
by your own confession you are guilty of a crime for 
which there can be no punishment but death ? " 

Nathan Hale nodded his head, without taking his 
eyes from Howe's countenance. " The fortunes of 



136 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

war have delivered me into your hands, sir," he said, 
in even voice. " You will doubtless not flinch from 
what you consider to be your duty. You shall hear 
no reproach from me in your exercise of it." 

A flash of pity went across the Englishman's face 
as he waved a hand to those who had brought in the 
spy under guard ; pity for the brave young man 
whom nothing could save, and admiration for his 
bravery. 

There was silence for a space. It was broken by 
the low, measured accents of General Howe. " You 
shall be hung," he said . . . "in the morning." 

It was Sunday, the 26th of September, in the year 
of our Lord 1776. The sun shone clear from a blue 
sky ; fleecy clouds drove overhead before a gentle 
breeze that came wafting in from the sea ; birds 
twittered from bough to bough of the apple trees in 
the orchard behind the Beekman mansion. 

Platoons of soldiers were drawn up in a square 
about the orchard. In the midst of the soldiers was 
a group of officers, brilliant in scarlet uniform, heavy 
with gold lace. All about the orchard was a con- 
course of people, attracted thither by the news of 
what was going forward. Underneath one of the 
apple trees, standing on the rungs of a ladder which 
raised him above the ground, was a young man, 
dressed in the black velvet knickers of a country 
schoolmaster, with black coat, white lace at the cuffs 
and throat. About his neck was a noose ; the other 



THE SCHOOLMASTER 137 

end of the rope was fastened to a limb. His head 
was bare ; the sun shone through his Hght brown 
hair upon a face of beauty and serenity. In the eyes 
which met the stare of those about was a light of an- 
other world ; the glad fire of martyrdom. His lips 
were moving ; he was speaking. " My only regret 
is that I have but one life to give for my country," 
he was saying. 

A signal from one of the group about the ladder 
— and the story of Nathan Hale had come to an end. 



CHAPTER VI 

THE MAN THEY CALLED A COWARD 

Nobody likes to be called a coward. If he really 
is a coward, he makes a great fuss about it. The 
braver he is, the longer he will stand it. Old Gen- 
eral Herkimer stood it a long time before he lost his 
patience, and gave the order that cost him his life. 

Old General Herkimer was a hard fighter. He 
had fought in Indian wars from the time he was a 
boy. He was over sixty now. Probably Herkimer 
himself could not have told how many fights he had 
been in. Probably he would not have told, if he 
could have done so, for he was not boastful ; which 
is another trait of brave men. 

Every one knew how brave he was. Even those 
who called him a coward, and a Tory — which was 
worse, to his thinking — knew that he was brave 
enough for two men. But they lost their tempers, 
and with their tempers their good sense, and said 
what came into their heads, without regard to 
whether it was true or not. 

Herkimer lived in old New York State, in Tyron 
County. That was the name given to a vast stretch 
of country extending from the neighborhood of 
Albany off to the Great Lakes. It was a good deal of 



THE MAN THEY CALLED A COWARD 139 

a wilderness, and the Indians had not moved out 
when he lived there. The country was sparsely 
populated by whites. The feeling of loyalty to the 
king of England was strong among them ; there were 
more Tories, perhaps, than whites. This result 3d in 
a very savage state of affairs, for when neighbors 
fall out, as you know, they hate each other cordially. 

When General Burgoyne started down from 
Montreal in 1777, to march through to New York 
and cut the colonies in two. General St. Leger under- 
took a movement in cooperation with him. Gather- 
ing together a force of Canadians and Tories, many 
of whom were from Tyron County, and inducing a 
number of Indians to join with him, he landed at 
Oswego, where he was joined by more Tories, under 
Johnson and the Butlers. Thence he marched 
toward Fort Stanwix, an American outpost held by 
six hundred men under Colonel Peter Gansevoort. 

Herkimer heard of the advance of the British and 
Tories, with their Indian allies. It was bad enough 
to have his old neighbors attempting an invasion of 
New York, but the presence of Indians in their force 
stirred him to the depths of his fighting soul. Or- 
ganizing a force fifteen hundred strong among the 
patriotic neighbors he started out to the relief of the 
fort, which was hard pressed by this time. 

All went well until the little army reached Oris- 
kany, eight miles from the fort. There Herkimer 
halted, and talked things over with his officers. 
They decided that the thing to do was to send mes- 



I40 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



sengers into the fort, telling of their approach, and 
arrange with Colonel Gansevoort that he make a 
sortie against his besiegers at the same time that 
Herkimer took them in rear. 

The errand was a dangerous one, but men who 
were willing to undertake it were not hard to find in 
that company. The messengers were sent ofT early 
on the evening of August 5th ; so early that they 
were expected to reach the fort by three o'clock in 
the morning. It was arranged that Gansevoort 
should fire three signal guns to announce their ar- 
rival, and to notify Herkimer's force that the garri- 
son was about to undertake their part of the pro- 
gram. 

It was a wakeful night in the small force. The 
officers and men dozed around, waiting for the guns 
that were to be their signal to advance. Three 
o'clock came, and nothing was heard from the direc- 
tion of the fort. Four and five arrived, and went 
down into eternal time without the signal. Hour 
after hour they waited. Then some of the officers, 
and most of the men, began to get impatient. 

That was how it came about that they called 
Nicholas Herkimer a coward. They were certain 
that something had happened to the messengers, or 
that something was wrong in the fort. They thought 
they ought not to wait any longer. They wanted to 
advance without further delay. Herkimer was not 
willing to do that. He realized the importance of 
having the movement take place in conjunction with 



THE MAN THEY CALLED A COWARD 141 



the movement from the fort. He knew that when 
one has once formed a plan, and committed himself 
to it, and begun to execute it, any change in details 
is likely to make confusion and invite disaster. 

" Wait a little," he said to his officers. 

But when they had been whispering among them- 
selves for a long time, and had begun openly to 
charge that the reason he would not advance was 
that he was a coward, and that he was in sympathy 
with the Tories, and that he was plotting to betray 
his command to help the king's cause, he would 
stand it no longer. " All right," he said. " You will 
find that I am the last man to give way before danger. 
Come on." 

Whereupon the force moved ofif in long file along 
the wooded road toward Fort Stanwix. 

It was then eight or nine in the morning. It was 
a picturesque sight, without doubt. There was not 
a uniform or a flag among them. They were farmers 
and pioneers, dressed in leather jerkins and trousers, 
with rough caps on their heads. They straggled 
along in a mass, without regard for military forma- 
tion, talking and laughing among themselves. They 
were very little like an army. 

But they all had their rifles or their muskets handy 
in their fingers, and a great courageous determina- 
tion in their hearts ; which, after all, is worth more in 
a fight oftentimes than flags and uniforms. 

Two miles from their starting point the road 
crossed a little crescent-shaped ravine. At the bot- 



142 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

torn of the ravine was a swampy place, over which 
the road ran on a causeway of logs. All about was 
a thick growth of trees and bushes. It was a capital 
place for an ambush. 

The Americans moved down the slope of the hill 
into this ravine on a steady swing. They were not 
expecting to see an enemy yet. Nevertheless, they 
were enough used to Indian fighting to be on the 
lookout. They scanned the hills and peered through 
the bushes and behind trees for sign of a hidden foe 
as they marched. Herkimer, in the van of the 
column, was especially alert. 

The head of the force had reached the bottom of 
the ravine, leaving the rear-guard some distance be- 
hind, when Herkimer, scrutinizing the bushes to left 
and right, caught sight of a movement in the leaves 
that could not be accounted for by the wind. He 
was watching the spot intently, waiting for another 
sign of life, when the woods all about them suddenly 
blossomed out into smoke. There was a great rattle 
of muskets, and balls went singing among them. 

At the same time a troop of horse, rushing over 
the brink of the ravine in front, came charging down 
upon the startled body of men with savage yells, 
firing as they came. They were Sir John Johnson's 
Royal Greens, a famous Tory regiment. 

There were two reasons why the ambush did not 
succeed at once in demoralizing and destroying the 
American force. One reason was that the Ameri- 
cans, backwoodsmen all, were not entirely surprised 



THE MAN THEY CALLED A COWARD 143 

being used to that manner of warfare. The other 
reason was Nicholas Herkimer, whom some of them 
had lately called a coward. 

Wheeling his horse to face his troops, the doughty- 
old veteran shouted to them : " Stand your ground I 
Beat *em back 1 Keep cool, and stand firm ! We'll 
give 'em some of their own medicine fast enough." 
Snatching his pistols from his holsters, he turned 
again toward the foe, and snapped them both in the 
very faces of the onrushing Greens. 

The shock was terrific when the horsemen struck 
the thick American column. In a moment the road 
was a surging mass of humanity, cursing, firing, 
slicing at each other with swords, swinging at each 
other with musket butts. All around the edges of 
the fight were heard the popping of muskets in the 
hands of the Indians. 

Johnson's Greens accomplished little. The Ameri- 
cans took to the bog, where the horses floundered 
helplessly when they undertook to follow. From 
this security they loaded and fired with comparative 
safety at the mounted men, who gradually with- 
drew. 

" Mind the Indians behind you ! " shouted Herki- 
mer, in a voice heard above the uproar of battle. 
" They're coming through the trees and bushes." 

There was no doubt where they were coming from. 
The brush was alive with them ; the leaves were 
draped with wreaths and festoons of smoke, and 
blossomed with fire. 



144 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

" Swing out. Form a circle ! " shouted Herkimer, 
riding back along the causeway and sending the 
men hither and thither to posts of advantage. " Stand 
steady. Aim straight. There's no hurry." 

His words and example gave them courage, and 
steadied them. They ran each to the nearest shelter, 
alert and watchful, shooting wherever an Indian 
showed his head. " Kill 'em ! " bellowed Herkimer. 

Just as the Americans were cooling down to their 
work, a shot struck the leader's horse. The animal 
sank to the ground with a scream and lay still. Men 
rushed to free their commander from the animal's 
body. " Are you hurt ? " they asked. 

" Nothing," answered the man whom they had 
called a coward. " Only a scratch in the leg. Lift 
me up." 

Raising him, they saw blood pouring from a wound 
below the knee. His leg was shattered by the same 
ball that had killed his mount. His face was grow- 
ing pale ; it twitched with pain. 

" Here," he said. " Help me to that tree." He 
pointed to a huge beech near at hand. " Bring the 
saddle. . . . You, there ! Stoughton ! " he 
called to one of his officers. " Get some men and 
take care of those Indians over there. Quick." 
Standing on one leg, supporting himself on the shoul- 
der of one who was helping him to the tree, he 
pointed to where a band of Indians was pressing 
hard against a few of his soldiers, whom they out- 
numbered. 



THE MAN THEY CALLED A COWARD 145 

" You're bad hit, general," ventured the man he 
was leaning against. 

"What if I am?" retorted Herkimer. "We've 
got to keep on fighting. . . . It's nothing but a 
scratch," he went on. 

They helped him painfully to the tree. All the 
time his eyes were everywhere ; he continued it) 
shout his orders, sending men here and there where 
they were most needed. Not a detail of the fight es- 
caped his observation ; he was as self-possessed as 
he would have been in his potato field, directing men 
at their hoeing. 

Some one brought the saddle and laid it down 
against the tree. They let him down gently. He 
propped himself against the huge trunk. " Look 
out for those red devils in that clump," he said to 
one of the group that stood irresolute about him. 
" They're sneaking up too close there. Clean 'em 
out. Never mind me. 'Tend to the redskins." 

By this time the struggle had settled into a stub- 
born contest of a more definite character. The 
Americans were entirely surrounded by a host of 
hidden enemies who fired from behind trees and 
bushes. Now and then one or a dozen of them could 
be seen scurrying from one point of vantage to an- 
other, but for the most part they were revealed only 
by the flashes and smoke from their muskets. 

But the Americans were equal to it. They had 
fought Indians before. Knowing the desperate na- 
ture of their situation, they steadied themselves to 



146 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



meet it. Their only chance of life was in their cour- 
age, and their weapons. There was no chance to 
draw out. They plied both with a firm will. Creep- 
ing through the bog from rock to stump, from tree 
trunk to fallen log, they hid as well as their enemy, 
and fired as accurately at those who exposed them- 
selves. 

" Hey ! Over there ! To the right, behind that 
boulder," Herkimer yelled, showing some soldiers 
where the foes were thickening close to the lines of 
defense. " Give it to *em, boys. We've got 'em 
where we want 'em now. They won't stand much 
more of it. Yah ! That's the way." His voice 
arose above the crackling din of the conflict. His 
wounded, mangled leg lay extended along the ground 
before him. Some one was tightening a bandage 
about it. " Get back to your work, my man, and 
leave my leg to take care of itself," he ordered. 
" You can't make it whole, and you're needed." 

The crash of arms and the yells of the combatants 
made a hideous noise in the narrow, tree-darkened 
ravine. Some of the men were up to their knees in 
the mire of the bog ; some of them were lying in the 
water, firing deliberately, with great care for their 
aim. And some who lay in the water were not fir- 
ing ; their muskets had spoken for the last time in 
their hands. 

Herkimer, fumbling in his pockets, pulled out a 
pipe. " Watch out," he cried, as he rummaged his 
pockets again for his tobacco pouch. " Watch out I 



THE MAN THEY CALLED A COWARD 147 

Don't let 'em get any closer by the causeway, there. 
They're crawling up behind it. Cross over and clean 
'em out. That's the way. Bravo ! " 

The form of an Indian arose at a distance on the 
steep bank of the ravine. " Shoot him down 1 " cried 
Herkimer. " That's Brandt." 

Brandt was the leader of the Indians ; a mighty 
brave and a great warrior. Before the one whom 
Herkimer had directed to kill him could draw bead, 
the Indian vanished. 

•* Don't let him get away again like that," the 
doughty general reproved. " Get him, and they'll 
all run like sheep." 

He drew his pouch forth, and began to fumble at 
the latchet strings. " Burton 1 " he called, as he was 
filling the bowl of his pipe. " Burton 1 Take what 
men you can get and work in behind us. They're 
swinging around ; they're trying to mass in our rear. 
Stop it." 

The rattle of arms and the yells of the fighters re- 
doubled as Burton went to meet the strategy of the 
enemy. Herkimer watched the outcome narrowly 
as he finished off the top of his pipeful with a fat 
thumb and stuck the stem in his mouth, 

** How are you getting on, general ? " asked an 
officer, running up to him. 

" How are you ? " returned the old warrior. " Is 
your work all done?" 

" I wanted to see whether anything could be don« 
for you," stammered the other. 



148 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

"There can. Get back into the line and you'll be 
doing it." 

The man, abashed, leapt behind a tree and swung 
his gun to his shoulder, waiting for a view of a 
foeman. 

Herkimer, without taking his roving eyes from the 
scene of battle, produced flint and tinder box, struck 
a light, applied it to the piled tobacco in his pipe- 
bowl, drew in a half dozen hearty puffs, and settled 
back against the tree with a sigh. A twitch of pain 
passed over his features ; he was growing paler. 

" Now, then, men, we're holding them," shouted 
Herkimer, seeing that the movement to the rear was 
being checked. " Keep it up ; keep it up. They 
won't last long now ! " 

He drew his pipe out of his mouth and blew a 
cloud of smoke into the air. 

A man came reeUng toward him, whimpering, his 
head in his hands. Blood ran through his fingers 
and streaked along his wrists. " What now ? What 
now?" demanded Herkimer, sternly. 

The man sank down beside the wounded general 
with a gasp. " I can't see ! I can't see ! " he wailed. 
" I'm hit 1 Oh, I'm killed ! " 

" So'm I," returned Herkimer, gruffly, "but if I had 
two legs under me I wouldn't be here. Get back 
into the fight. Fight 'til you die, man, fight 'til you 
die. It'll help you to forget." 

" I can't see ! Oh, I can't see I " whimpered the 
stricken man. " Oh, mamma, mamma ! " 







'Get Back into Line and You'll be Doing It" 



THE MAN THEY CALLED A COWARD 149 

"Tut, friend," said Herkimer, more gendy. "If 
your mother was here she'd send you back to die 
like a man." 

With a sob the man struggled to his feet, whirled 
two steps, wavered, and fell to the ground, dead. 
Herkimer, glancing at him, put his pipe in his mouth 
again and turned his gaze to a spot where the fight 
was growing hotter and hotter. That is war. 

Hark ! What was that ? That sound like distant 
cannon ? Had the messengers reached the fort ? 
Was it Gansevoorfs guns ? Was he beginning his 
sortie against St. Leger? The sound was too long 
drawn out for that. 

Herkimer listened again. Once more the distant 
rumble rose, grew heavy, and died away in a long 
reverberation. It was thunder. 

Turning an eye upward, Herkimer perceived that 
the sky was rapidly clouding over. Black banks of 
cloud were hurrying in upon them ; the leaves on the 
trees overhead twitched nervously in a rising breeze. 
Shadows deepened through the gloomy ravine. 

Herkimer shook his head. Rain would mean that 
the firing would stop ; the rain would wet the powder 
in the firing pans. What would happen then ? 

The hot spot in the fighting was getting hotter, 
and drawing nearer. Nothing could be seen of the 
enemy ; the increasing gloom, and the smoke from 
their guns, obscured their position. Only by the 
sound of the firing could their position be de- 
termined. 



I50 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



" Over there ! Over there ! " bellowed Herkimer, 
directing a squad of men to the danger point. 
•' Drive 'em out of that." 

The men were off at a run, dodging behind trees 
and bushes. 

A drop of rain came driving down through the 
foliage and lit on the old man's hand. He brushed 
it off unconsciously against his sleeve. The wind 
sang through the trees ; a bright flash of lightning 
raced across the sky, throwing a lurid instantaneous 
light upon the scene. 

It showed men crouched behind logs and rocks, 
loading and firing, alert, watchful, grim, determined. 

A rumble of thunder ; another flash of lightning ; 
a distant hissing, and a thick dash of rain swept 
among the leaves. A lull ; another dash of rain ; a 
steady pour. Darkness descended like a pall, shot 
through and through by incessant flashes of lightning. 

Gradually the sound of firing died away. The 
muskets were wet; they could no longer be fired. 
What would happen next ? 

The man against the tree could see only by the 
lightning flashes what was happening. He saw the 
dusky forms of savages rising up out of their hiding- 
places in the covert ; saw them dash against his own 
men, with hatchets raised, brandishing knives, swing- 
ing muskets by their barrels. He saw Johnson's 
Greens swarming in, with knives and pistols and 
hatchets. He saw his own men brace themselves to 
meet the onslaught ; saw them close and grapple 



THE MAN THEY CALLED A COWARD 151 

with their foemen ; saw them clinging close in em- 
braces of death ; heard their harsh breath dragging 
through set teeth ; their cries, their curses, their 
screams of rage and despair and mortal agony. Saw 
and heard all this, and went on smoking quietly at 
the base of the beech, helpless, unable to make a 
move to turn the fight. 

Now a horrid struggle began. Down there in 
that dark ravine, with the storm shrieking about 
their ears and the thunder crashing and mumbling 
above them, with the rain flooding down over their 
shoulders, into their upturned faces, lighted now and 
then by the flames of heaven, filled with hate and 
the fear of death, man to man they struggled, as 
their cave-dwelling progenitors had fought — to the 
death. 

The crash of firing had hushed suddenly into the 
subdued sounds of intimate struggle that was like an 
awful silence in comparison. Wicked strokes were 
given and taken ; blows that crushed out life. Men, 
clutching at each other's throats, looked one another 
in the eye, looked unutterable angry hatred, mingled 
stifling breath with breath, until one, or both, felt 
the sharp prick of the knife beneath his shirt, felt 
the edge grate swiftly between his ribs, felt strength 
evaporate from him, and sank into the mire, never 
to rise. The hour was inhuman ; the blackness of 
the day, the close-crowding rim of the ravine, made 
the struggle seem like some mighty conflict between 
demons in a land that was not like the earth. 



152 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

Herkimer, sitting in the rain, drenched to the 
skin, catching glimpses now and then of the struggle 
that failed to tell him how it went, presently saw a 
rift of light creep into the sky behind the hill. 
Against the rift he saw a human form, pausing 
for an instant before it disappeared. While he still 
looked, puzzled, wondering, he saw another and 
another. 

The rift widened ; a faint glow of light suffused 
the bloody ravine. Looking still toward the rim of 
hills, Herkimer beheld more figures ; more and 
continually more. Suddenly he understood. They 
were Indians, and they were running away ! The 
fight was won ! 

"They flee! They flee!" he shouted. "Into 
'em, men ! They're breaking ! " 

A slight increase in the muffled noises in the 
gloomy gulch answered his urging ; a growth of 
sound like the lifting voice of wind in a distant pine 
forest. With it grew more frequent the screams of 
dying men. The Americans, reheartened, fell to 
with renewed vigor, slaying more mercilessly than 
they had yet slain their foes. 

" Look ! There they go I " thundered Herkimer, 
exulting. " Over the edge of the hill ! " You might 
have thought him on the side-lines at a football 
game, with his team pushing the ball across for the 
touch-down that won the game. " Into 'em, men ! 
Pitch in ! They're running away ! " 

Now against the rapidly clearing sky those who 



THE MAN THEY CALLED A COWARD 153 

remained to fight could see the savages vanishing 
over the hill in knots and pairs ; in throngs ; in 
swarms. A mighty yell of triumph arose ; they fell 
to with a sudden new strength, forgetting their 
fatigue, forgetting their hurts. 

It was over. Seeing themselves deserted by their 
savage allies, the Tories, harder pressed, gave way 
and fled. Like sun-scattered mist they vanished, 
leaving the hideous death hole barren of enemies. 
The fight was won. Herkimer, with a sigh, closed 
his eyes, and rested his weary head against the 
trunk of the huge beech tree. 

It was over, but at what a cost ! For four hours, 
under the hot August air, they had been fighting. 
More than one-fourth of their number lay dead. 
The fighters, utterly exhausted, threw themselves 
down where they were, or crept oflf to some dry 
spot, out of the gory mire. When the sky cleared, 
as it did quickly, the sun looked down through 
the trees upon seven hundred dead and wounded 
men, lying among those who breathed deeply of a 
hard-earned rest. So spent they were, so listless, 
that even the sound of distant firing from the direc- 
tion of Fort Stanwix, which presently came to their 
ears, could not arouse them to further effort. The 
messengers, arriving at the fort at last, had given 
the word, and Gansevoort had attacked. But it 
was too late for the success of the plans which 
Herkimer had laid, and which he had abandoned 
because there were those among his men who called 



154 



REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



him coward. Although the garrison punished St. 
Leger badly, driving him from his camp and seizing 
quantities of his stores, they could not crush him, 
and he was able to maintain his position until 
Benedict Arnold, coming up through the woods 
from Saratoga, so frightened his Indian allies that 
they deserted him to a man. 

It was late in the day when the exhausted sur- 
vivors of the fight in the ravine gathered them- 
selves together and marched wearily back to Oris- 
kany, bearing their wounded with them on litters 
made of green boughs. Bearing with them, too, 
their general with a shattered leg, calmly smoking 
his pipe in silence. 

What man was there now to call him coward? 
What man was there now whose heart did not beat 
with pride and love for him ? 

But he had paid the price. Two days later, in 
spite of all that the crude surgery of the back- 
woods could do for him, he died. 



CHAPTER VII 
WHEN ARNOLD SHOULD HAVE DIED 

There is not one among you who read this book, I 
hope, who does not bristle up at the mention of the 
name of Benedict Arnold. You remember how he 
tried to betray West Point into the hands of the 
British, and how he would have succeeded, probably, 
if John Paulding and two other loyal Americans had 
not picked up Major Andre traveling through the 
woods along the Hudson and found in his stocking 
papers that showed what Arnold was trying to do. 
We all detest a traitor, whether he gives away a hid- 
ing-place in " I Spy," or throws us down in a game 
of ball, or betrays his country. We detest him more, 
of course, if he betrays his country, and that is what 
Arnold did. 

Before he did that, however, he did many other 
things for which we would like to love him if we 
could. And there was one time in his life, when, 
if he had died, he would have been one of our 
great national heroes. It is that time that this story 
is about. 

The first thing Arnold did that made him a hero 
was soon after the battle of Bunker Hill. He went 
to Boston in response to the call to arms. Find- 
ing nothing to be done there when he arrived, he 



156 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

proposed a plan to go and capture Ticonderoga 
and Crown Point. Ticonderoga was a fort at the 
junction of Lakes George and Champlain, in north- 
ern New York. It was an important point. The 
principal route from Canada to the colonies passed 
along the two lakes and into the Hudson River basin. 
In those days people traveled all they could by 
water, for lack of good roads. Crown Point was 
another important post, further down Lake George. 
They were not only of consequence for their military 
value, but the British had large stores planted there, 
which would come in very handy for the Continental 
boys, who were lacking in weapons and munitions. 
So Arnold, finding nothing to do about Boston, and 
wanting very much to do something, proposed to 
go and capture the two British forts. 

After a certain amount of red tape was unwound, 
— and there was more of it in those days than there 
is now, because no one knew then who was in au- 
thority, and where the authority came from, — after 
the tape was unwound, Arnold was given a com- 
mission, and permission to raise a force of volunteers 
for the purpose. 

When he arrived on the ground where he intended 
to recruit his force, he learned that Ethan Allen, of 
Connecticut, had already set out on the same errand 
with a body of Green Mountain boys. Arnold, over- 
taking him, tried to obtain command of the Green 
Mountain boys, on the strength of the commission 
which had been given him. Allen and the others 



WHEN ARNOLD SHOULD HAVE DIED 157 

only laughed at him. Instead of being offended 
Arnold swallowed his pride and enlisted in the force 
as a volunteer. It is quite clear that at that time 
Arnold was free from the personal ambition with 
which he has been charged, and which is said to 
have been his ruin finally. He was willing to fight 
in the ranks, if only he could fight. 

You remember the story of the capture of Ticonder- 
oga ; we are not concerned with it here. The next 
thing he did for which we would love him if we could 
was more than brave. It required big-hearted and 
dogged courage. He led a force of men through the 
woods of Maine, against disheartening obstacles, 
and brought them to Quebec, intending to capture 
that town from the British. It is a long, pathetic 
story. It ended in a reckless midnight assault on 
New Year's Eve against the citadel, in which Arnold 
was wounded in the left leg. That was the night 
when Montgomery was killed. The expedition was 
a failure. Arnold had done all he could, and much 
more than most men would have done, to make it 
a success, but luck and too many British were against 
him. 

He put up one fight on Lake Champlain against 
the British that would have been enough in itself to 
make him a hero for us, even if he had never done 
anything else. He slapped together a fleet of boats, 
when the British were coming down from Canada on 
their first invasion, and fought their vessels to a stand- 
still all through one long and heavy day. At night 



158 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

his own craft were little better than wrecks. The 
English surrounded them, nearly, and expected to 
finish them off the next day. In the night Arnold 
slipped out around the end of their line and went 
scurrying off up Lake George toward Crown Point 
with his tiny fleet. When the British overhauled 
him at last, Arnold stood at bay and fought them off 
for four hours with one schooner, while the rest made 
their way to safety. When they were safe, and when 
most of his crew were dead or wounded, and his 
vessel was tottering on the top of the water, he ran 
her ashore. The remnant of his crew took to the 
woods, making their way to their comrades. That 
was fighting that you would like to read about, if 
you haven't. 

In spite of all he had done. Congress overlooked 
him in appointing five major-generals for the Con- 
tinental army. Arnold was deeply hurt. He would 
have resigned had not Washington persuaded him to 
remain with the army and fight. Perhaps he was be- 
coming ambitious ; but there had been bickerings 
and politics enough behind his back to make any 
man angry. There is no doubt that he was treated 
shabbily. There was one man in particular, of whom 
you will presently hear more, that plotted against 
Arnold, and every one else, even Washington, in 
most selfish fashion. That man was General Hore^tio 
Gates. 

It was at about this time that Arnold distinguished 
himself in another fight with the British. He was 



WHEN ARNOLD SHOULD HAVE DIED 159 

visiting his two boys in Connecticut — their mother 
was dead — when he learned that a body of redcoats 
had landed and was making a march into the inte- 
rior for the purpose of plundering the country and 
seizing some arms ; much such a march as the one 
out of Boston, in '75, which resulted in the battle of 
Lexington and Concord. Arnold jumped on his 
horse and started for the scene of trouble, picking up 
troops as he went. When he came upon the British 
he had quite a respectable army, which he used to 
such advantange that the British were glad to get 
back to their ships alive. Many of them didn't. 

His relief of Fort Stanwix, in New York, in 1777, 
is another instance of the man's courage and love 
for fighting. In 1777 the English began the execu- 
tion of a large plan to cut the colonies in two. Bur- 
goyne started down from Canada, took Ticonderoga 
and Crown Point, and struck out for the Hudson. 
Howe was to come up from New York with a large 
force and meet him at Albany, and St. Leger, with 
Canadians, Tories, and Indians sailed across the bot- 
tom of Lake Erie and moved up the Mohawk to 
join the two. If they had succeeded New England 
would have been entirely severed from the other 
colonies, and it would have gone very hard with the 
patriots. They could not communicate by water, for 
the English controlled the sea absolutely. 

In St. Leger's way was Fort Stanwix. I have told 
you about the fighting around there ; about Herki- 
mer, and the battle of Oriskany, for instance. St. 



i6o REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



Leger finally came up to Fort Stanwix, and was 
pressing it severely. The only chance the Ameri- 
cans had was in help from outside. One of the offi- 
cers in the fort stole out at night, slipped through 
the British lines, and made his way to the American 
army that had gathered to oppose Burgoyne. 

General Schuyler was in command of the army. 
General Schuyler was an able general and a noble 
man. But he was disliked by his officers and most 
of his men because he was from New York. You 
have no idea now of the bitterness there used to be 
between the colonies ; and New York was rather 
generally hated by all New England. General Gates 
was making the most of the feeling against Schuyler 
to have him deposed, and himself appointed in com- 
mand of the army instead ; a scheme in which he 
finally succeeded. 

Arnold had just reached the American camp when 
the courier came in with word from Fort Stanwix, 
begging for help. Arnold was a friend of Schuyler, 
and had little use for Gates. Schuyler called a 
council of war. 

" He only wants to weaken the army," sneered 
one of the officers, in a whisper that all could hear, 
when Schuyler proposed sending a relief expedition. 
He meant that Schuyler wanted to weaken the force 
opposed to Burgoyne so that the English would 
meet with no trouble. 

" Enough ! " cried Schuyler, leaping to his feet. 
" I will take upon myself the responsibility ! " He 



WHEN ARNOLD SHOULD HAVE DIED i6i 

bit his pipe so hard that he bit the stem in two, 
and the bowl fell crashing to the floor. " Where is 
the brigadier that will go? " 

The brigadiers were silent. " I will go ! " cried 
Arnold, springing up. 

He was given a force, and went. On the way his 
men brought in half a dozen Tory spies that they 
had found. Among them was Yan Yost Cuyler, a 
half-witted fellow. When Yan Yost's mother heard 
that he was about to be hanged as a spy, she came 
to Arnold to beg for his life. Arnold agreed to 
spare him, if he would do as he was told to do. 
Yan Yost and his mother promised. Yan Yost was 
accordingly sent off with his hat and coat full of 
bullet holes, to tell the Tories and Indians around 
Fort Stanwix that a great host was coming to anni- 
hilate them. He did his work so well that the In- 
dians, more than half afraid of simpletons to begin 
with, believing them possessed of devils, deserted 
St. Leger, and were soon followed by many Tories 
and Canadians. St, Leger, beside himself with 
anger and chagrin, was obliged to withdraw. When 
Arnold came to the place he could find no one to 
fight, and Fort Stanwix was relieved. 

When Arnold returned to Saratoga Burgoyne's 
army was in a bad predicament. The English had 
just had a bit of bad luck in the disastrous defeat at 
Bennington of a force of Hessians Burgoyne had 
sent out foraging. The countrymen were swarming 
to the defense of their country from far and near. 



i62 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



Detachments of veterans were being sent from the 
Hudson River posts; Washington sent Morgan, 
with five hundred riflemen, and General Dearborn, 
with a brigade. With these troops General Schuyler 
had drawn the lines tight about the British, and they 
were struggling in his net, when Gates succeeded in 
being appointed in his stead. 

Horatio Gates has been called the " Hero of Sara- 
toga." I want you to know that he wasn't. If it 
had been possible to ruin the situation that Schuy- 
ler had so skilfully developed he would probably 
have done it. He was a vain, silly, incompetent 
officer, and undoubtedly cowardly. He was never 
under fire in his northern campaigns, leaving that to 
his soldiers, and after one fight which he lost in the 
South he ran two hundred miles in four days, never 
stopping to look behind him. That was the battle 
of Camden. 

The American army was posted on Bemis Heights, 
on the west side of the Hudson. Detachments 
were strung along to the north, east of the river, on 
Burgoyne's line of communication. Burgoyne had 
crossed to the west side of the river, under orders to 
press on to Albany, where he expected to be met by 
Sir William Howe,, Finding the American army 
strongly posted in his front, and learning that it was 
daily growing stronger, he decided that he must 
attack it at once, although it was already stronger 
than his. Retreat was out of the question. There 
were as many enemies in the rear as there were in 



WHEN ARNOLD SHOULD HAVE DIED 163 

the front. His only hope was to sweep Gates out of 
his way and march on to Albany. And I am 
inclined to think he would have done it if it hadn't 
been for Benedict Arnold. 

The American sharpshooters had a pleasant habit 
of climbing into the trees in front of their position 
and picking off any redcoats that might stray 
within range. A number of them were occupied in 
this pursuit on the morning of August 18, 1777, a 
short distance in front of Bemis Heights, when they 
caught glimpses of a number of redcoats flicking 
through the brush and undergrowth that lined one 
of the roads in the neighborhood. Now and then 
a flash of sunlight would dart up through the 
leaves, reflected from guns or bayonets. Occa- 
sionally the men in the trees would catch the sound 
of the clank of steel, or the mumble of footsteps. 
They reported at once to Arnold, who was in com- 
mand of the left wing of the American force. 

Arnold was not long in making out what Bur- 
goyne was up to. He saw that Burgoyne was 
sending a force through the woods to attack the 
American extreme left. It was evident that the 
Englishman expected to roll up the American left 
and slip past with his army. 

Arnold went to Gates and laid the situation before 
him. Gates sneered at him at first. He could not 
make up his mind what to do. Finally, when 
Arnold . had pled with him for many minutes, he 
consented to let Arnold take Morgan's sharp- 



i64 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



shooters and Dearborn's brigade and attack the 
British. 

It was not long before the British column, moving 
through the woods, found itself assailed with a sur- 
prising vigor. The fight became general. Arnold 
sent back repeatedly to Gates, begging for rein- 
forcements. But Gates, with ii,ooo idle troops 
burning for a fight, refused to send a man. If he 
had supplied the force, there is no doubt that Bur- 
goyne would have fought his last fight that day. 
Arnold, with only 3,000 men, Vv^as very near whip- 
ping him as it was. Burgoyne withdrew to his 
fortified encampment, baffled. 

Gates, aware of the success that Arnold's stroke 
had met, promptly sent word to Congress that he 
had won a victory, without so much as mentioning 
Arnold's name. But the soldiers mentioned it ; 
mentioned it so much that Gates, who could not 
bear to hear any one else praised, grew angrily 
jealous. In a mean, petty spite he withdrew from 
Arnold's division Morgan's riflemen and Dearborn's 
brigade, the very troops with which he had won 
the fight a few days before. He furthermore told 
Arnold that as soon as Lincoln arrived with an army 
that he was bringing up, he would have no more 
use for Arnold. 

The fighting general was so angry that he would 
have left the front at once had not the other officers 
prevailed on him to remain, and had he not been 
prompted to do so by the belief that he could be of 



WHEN ARNOLD SHOULD HAVE DIED 165 

some assistance. So he stayed, keeping close to his 
headquarters, deprived of a command, but still 
determined to do what he could to crush Burgoyne 
and rescue the country from the threat of being cut 
in two. And the time when he should have died 
approached. 

It was the seventh of October. Looking down 
from the door of his tent on Bemis Heights, Bene- 
dict Arnold, the general without a command, could 
view the field where he knew, sooner or later, great 
deeds would be done for the liberty of the colonies. 
The soft air of a warm autumnal day lay hazily 
over the scene, mellowing the woods, already bright 
with turning leaves, smoothing the fields into gentle 
billows, like a brown running sea. Not far from the 
foot of the hill a farmer had cleared the trees away 
and planted his hay and corn, now harvested. The 
barn and outhouses of his farm peeped up from 
behind green fir trees, set beside the buildings in a 
long row. Here and there on the farm the fields 
had been rudely torn into breastworks for a defense 
to the British troops, who were posted on the north- 
ern half of it. Soldiers could be seen through a 
good glass moving about their camp. 

As he watched, Arnold saw some one running up 
the slope of the hill in great excitement. " They're 
coming," cried the boy, who was a soldier in Dear- 
born's legions. 

•' Who ? " cried Arnold. 

** Burgoyne. The British." 



i66 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

Arnold, biting his lip, turned into his tent. " It 
can't be borne," he muttered, under his breath. 
" Must I sit idly here all day, listening to the noise 
of the glorious game, with the smell of burnt 
powder in my very nostrils, without striking a 
blow? And all for that popinjay over there?" 
He flung a look angrily in the direction of General 
Gates's tent. 

He sprang to his feet and went to the door of his 
tent. The young man that had come running up the 
hill was returning whence he had come, more leis- 
urely. " Ho, there ! " cried Arnold. 

The soldier stopped. 

" What news is this, my man ? " 

The soldier approached, a bit bashfully, for in the 
eyes of those who fought Benedict Arnold was a 
man to be reverenced and respected. " Burgoyne is 
marching out along the road through Freeman's 
Farm," replied the soldier, pulling off his hat in a 
salute ; he was a raw recruit. " There are thou- 
sands of 'em," he went on. " Gory ! I wish " 

" What do you wish ? " 

" Nothin'," returned the lad, fidgeting. 

" Come, come, out with it I " 

The boy was frightened. " I wish I was goin' to 
fight with you again," he stammered. 

" So do I," muttered Arnold, with a quick frown, 
turning into the tent again. The soldier fled, think- 
ing he had offended his hero. 

A shot came puttering through the soft air. 



WHEN ARNOLD SHOULD HAVE DIED 167 

Another, and another. Arnold clenched his fists. 
"There they go!" he cried. "They are at it!" 
The light of battle was flaming in his eyes ; his 
lips grew thin and quivered. You could almost 
fancy that he was whimpering, like an eager bird- 
dog, waiting for the sound of a gun. 

The firing grew to sound like pop-corn in a pop- 
per. It rose swiftly through a long, swelling rattle 
into a mighty and incessant crash of musketry. 
Suddenly there tore through the sharper sound the 
heavy booming of cannon. The battle came to an 
issue with unusual swiftness. 

Arnold, in his tent, could endure it no longer. 
He rushed out, glasses in hand, to view the scene. 
His magnificent black charger whinnied and pawed 
the ground at a little distance, scenting the fray. 

Down in the fields and woods by Freeman's Farm 
he could see the two armies closing in a death grap- 
ple. Beyond, to the left, was the sound of Morgan's 
rifles ; he knew them by their sharp crack, not like 
the blat of the muskets. 

His heart beat mightily within his breast as he 
beheld the long red line of British heroes meet and 
fling back the surging swarms of eager Americans. 
One to five, they stood stalwart and brave, fighting 
a good fight. The brave officer, standing idle, 
viewing the fight from a distance, tingled through 
every tissue to be in the thick of it. His eyes 
flashed ; his breath scraped in his throat ; he could 
hear the pulses of his heart gush through his arteries. 



i68 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



1 



They were breaking ! The British were breaking ! 
Their line was wavering ; crumpling up. Fighting 
doggedly, the British were beginning to withdraw. 
The patriots were too many for them. Arnold, in 
his excitement, beat his palm with his fist, and cried 
out " Courage ! " 

The slow moving mass of redcoats was coming 
to a stand again. They were forming once more, 
farther back, rallied by some one. It was Frazer ; 
Arnold knew him by his gray horse. If they should 
hold there, perhaps — 

Arnold could stand it no longer. " I will fight as 
a private, if I cannot fight as an officer ! " he cried, 
and dashed to where his charger stood, whickering 
for the fray. 

He untied the beast, leaped into the saddle, put 
spurs, and was off down the hill like a demon, lying 
low in the saddle, impatient of the speed the noble 
animal was making down the slope. 

Gates, sitting at the door of his own tent, beheld 
Arnold dashing toward the battle line. " Stop that 
fellow ! " he cried, snapping his fingers at an orderly. 
" Stop him. He will be doing something rash I " 

The orderly gave chase, but coming soon to a 
place that was too hot for his liking, he gave up. 
Arnold might do something rash if he chose ; the 
orderly did not propose to. He was an orderly, 
doubtless, after Gates's own heart. 

Glancing past the straining black neck of the 
charger that bore him, Arnold could see the British 



WHEN ARNOLD SHOULD HAVE DIED 169 

forming again in the rear of the position from which 
they had been driven. If that formation could be 
crushed, his soldier's wisdom told him, the British 
army would be defeated, — destroyed, perhaps. But 
if it held. . . . He set his spurs against the 
flanks of his animal again, urging him forward. 

What sound was that, rising above the crash of 
battle ? What glad cry ? Nothing but the soldiers 
giving welcome to their commander. Nothing but 
the cheering of the brave lads when they saw him 
come among them, magnificent, furious, flaming 
battle from his eyes, exultant in conflict. Such a 
man to turn a traitor ! 

'* Forward ! On to victory ! " His voice rang 
out above the din. He waved his sword toward the 
newly formed British line. With a mighty glad 
shout they rushed after him ; after the general with- 
out a command. 

General Frazer, brave, cool, calm, was riding up 
and down the line, steadying it. " Who is that devil 
raging thereat the head of those Americans?" he 
demanded, puzzled and half angry to be obliged to 
fight against such fury. 

" Arnold I " answered half a dozen. *' We know 
him 1 It's that father of all fighting devils, Benedict 
Arnold." 

" How so ! " cried Frazer. " We were told he no 
longer fought in the American lines ? " 

" You may see him fighting now. Here he 
comes ! " 



lyo REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

Frazer did not see him coming, for in that instant 
a bullet, sent to slay him under orders from Arnold 
himself, did its errand. With a quick sigh and a 
shudder, he doubled limply in the saddle and slid to 
the ground. 

At that instant Arnold struck the British line with 
the force of a tornado. The shock was irresistible. 
The men behind him were inspired with reckless 
valor. Nothing could stop them. The redcoats, 
hesitating a moment through very shame of run- 
ning, turned at last and fled. 

Seeing them broken and flying, Arnold swung his 
troops to the left, shouting to them to follow him to 
victory. With a wild yell, they dashed upon the 
next line of British. 

Finding these too strongly posted behind entrench- 
ments which they had thrown up some days before, 
Arnold, with rare presence of mind, swerved farther 
to the left and led his joyous charge against a 
brigade of Canadians. Towering above the swarm 
of men that raced along beside his black charger, he 
was a sight for heroes to behold. His ringing voice 
raised a tremor of zeal as it penetrated the din-beaten 
ears of the soldiers. 

His force, drawn about him for sheer love of fight- 
ing with such a one as he, was growing stronger 
every moment. The Canadians did not stand 
They melted like sand in front of a wave. 

Stopping for nothing, Arnold dashed himself 
against the Hessians, standing like a rock at the ex- i 



WHEN ARNOLD SHOULD HAVE DIED 171 

treme right of the British line. Thej'^ were stubborn ; 
they fought back sullenly, refusing to be defeated. 
But there was a fury about the assault, led by the 
furious fighter on the black charger, that would not 
be denied. They gave at last, reluctantly, slowly, 
stubbornly. 

Arnold, shouting victory, pressed after them. His 
black horse was tossing foam from its lips, snorting, 
rejoicing. 

There was a sharp report from beneath the very 
feet of the animal. It reared, screamed, lurched on 
its haunches, and rolled over on the ground, dead. 

A soldier rushed to Arnold's aid. The general, 
his face whitening, was holding his hand against his 
left thigh. Blood was trickling between the fingers. 
He was looking at a wounded Hessian, lying on the 
ground a pace away, propping himself on an elbow. 
The Hessian's gun v;as in his hands. 

** Are you hit ? " asked the soldier. 

" In the leg." The leg was broken ; the same leg 
that had received a wound at Quebec. 

A snarl of rage broke from the soldier. He un- 
derstood now. It was the Hessian that had shot 
Arnold. 

He grasped his own musket, and was rushing upon 
the wounded German to kill him, when Arnold cried 
out : *' For God's sake, don't ! He is a fine fel- 
low ! " 

That is when Arnold should have died. What a 
memory of him would then have lived down our his- 



172 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

tory ! What a bitter, hateful story would have been 
spared if some merciful bullet had found its way to 
his heart then, in the midst of his great victory ! In 
the moment of supreme triumph ; in the moment 
when he spared the life of the poor soldier who had 
tried to kill him, he should have died ! 

What follows needs no telling. The surrender of 
Burgoyne ; the crying up of Gates as a hero ; the 
great joy which swept through the thirteen states, 
heartening them for the long struggle that was 
ahead. That is known to you all. But perhaps you 
had not known that Benedict Arnold was all the hero 
that any one could wish until his heart cankered and 
he became a traitor to the cause for which he had 
fought so tremendously. 



CHAPTER VIII 
ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 

There are several kinds of courage. There is the 
courage that is aroused in a man by excitement, by 
a sense of heroics and the spectacular, by love of ap- 
plause, by desire for fame, or by the shame of being 
cowardly. This is frequently the kind of courage 
that sends a soldier against the enemy's guns with a 
shout in his throat. It is often the form of courage 
that keeps the crippled half-back in the football 
game, and sends him hurling himself against the 
opponent's line while his partisans are yelling from 
the grand stand. It is a very good sort of cour- 
age, in its way. 

But there is another sort of courage that is bet- 
ter. This is the courage that keeps a man true 
to his faith and principles against discouragement 
and difficulties. It is the kind of courage that holds 
up against temptations ; that doesn't need applause 
or hope of reward, or excitement to keep it alive. 
The kind that carries a man through a slow, mon- 
otonous duty to the verge of death, and beyond. 
It is called moral courage. 

Sometimes the man that has moral courage has 
not the other kind, which is physical. He may be 
afraid of getting hurt ; he may shrink from a fight 



174 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

with another man. He may be positively timid and 
frightened in the presence of a material danger, but 
be willing to surrender his life in slow sacrifice if 
necessary rather than abandon his ideals. 

This was the sort of courage that marked Chris- 
topher Martin. When he enlisted in the Continen- 
tal army, joining a Connecticut company soon after 
the battle of Lexington, he dreaded war and the pros- 
pect of battle. He enlisted because he believed in 
fighting for his rights, and not because he wanted to 
fight. 

While his compatriots were repulsing the British 
at Bunker Hill he lay at Cambridge with his com- 
pany trembling with physical fear at the sound of 
the guns. At the battle of Long Island only sheer 
shame kept him from running before his comrades 
finally broke and fled to the Heights, after they had 
been outflanked by the British, At White Plains he 
was in a torture of apprehension ; at the Brandywine 
he could scarcely refrain from flinging down his gun 
and sneaking away to hide. 

But it was not until the fight in the fog at Ger- 
mantown that he openly disgraced himself by phys- 
ical cowardice. Until that time his pride prompted 
his ingenuity to conceal his state of mind from his 
comrades. If they thought that he was perhaps a 
little lacking in ardor when it came to fighting, his 
generous good-nature in camp and on the march, his 
kindliness toward all whom he met, his readiness to 
give of what he had to those who lacked, and his 



ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 175 

patience when he himself was without, won him the 
affection and regard of his company. 

They called him *' Little Chris," and made much 
of him during the long, tedious days of army life. 
You must remember that the Revolution was not 
what can be called an active war. There was a long 
time between fights. Washington had so few troops 
with which to oppose the enemy that he avoided 
battle when he could ; which showed a very high 
grade of moral courage in him, because every one 
was complaining of his inactivity. 

There was one man in Christopher's company who 
was especially fond of Little Chris, and made a great 
pet of him. This was a big, strong, hearty fellow 
several years older than the boy, and a fighter by 
nature. He loved danger, and was always aching 
for a chance at the British, He was never happier 
than when he stood in the front rank of the battle 
line, with the bullets whistling about his ears, plying 
his musket and waiting for an order to charge. He 
was quite the hero of the regiment. His name was 
Philip Worth. 

Philip and Little Christopher had managed to get 
places in the company's ranks next each other. 
Christopher would have preferred a less exposed 
position than the one Philip selected, but was too 
proud to show his preference, so he swallowed the 
lump in his throat and marched off with a show of 
bravery when the order was given to fall in and 
move on the English at Germantown. 



176 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

The English army under General Howe had sailed 
down from New York City and advanced on Phila- 
delphia, defeating Washington at the Brandywine 
by a flank movement, and occupying the City of 
Brotherly Love, which was then the largest town in 
the colonies and the place where the Continental 
Congress had been in the habit of meeting. 

A large part of the English army was stationed in 
the little town of Germantown, five or six miles from 
the capital. Washington felt the need of striking 
a blow against the enemy, although there was not 
much chance of winning. His countrymen were be- 
coming discouraged by his inactivity ; he realized 
that it would be better to lose a battle than to go on 
longer without fighting. So he planned a skilful at- 
tack, and ordered the advance. 

The Continental army set out in the evening, in- 
tending to surprise the enemy. It was arranged 
that some were to attack the right wing of the British 
in front, while Greene moved against their flank, the 
left wing meanwhile being kept busy by a demon- 
stration in their front. 

The attacking army arrived at Germantown early 
in the morning. Things went wrong from the first. 
One column of the patriots got hung up in an attack 
on a British outpost, and when General Wayne kept 
on to do what had been assigned him a fog came 
up, so that he lost his bearings, and was not quite 
certain where the enemy was. 

Meanwhile General Stepen, of Greene's division, 



ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 177 

was advancing. Hearing the firing about the out- 
post, his troops bore off to the right, in the direction 
of the uproar. The fog was so dense that they 
could scarcely see fifty yards. When they beheld a 
rank of shadowy figures ahead of tJiem in the mist 
they opened fire on them with a will, believing them 
to be British. 

Instead they were Wayne's troops, with Chris- 
topher and Philip among them. 

That was when Little Chris lost his head. They 
had been advancing slowly and steadily, and had 
just begun to feel the enemy, and were opening on 
them, when they were taken in the rear by their own 
friends. Christopher, hearing the fire behind and in 
front, dropped his musket, turned pale, and began to 
make a strange noise in his throat, something like 
the whining of a dog. 

Philip looked at him in surprise. " 'Pon my soul, 
lad, what are you whimpering for ? " he cried. 

Christopher, forgetting everything in his fright, 
grasped his companion by the arm. " We're going 
to be killed ; we're going to be killed ! " he mur- 
mured, over and over. 

Philip shook him off. " I'd as lief kill you myself 
for showing the white feather," he growled, savagely. 
" What kind of a soldier are you ? " 

There was a great shouting going up among the 
troops about them. No one knew quite what was 
the matter, and others besides Christopher were los- 
ing their heads. Christopher, able to stand it no 



178 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

longer, turned and skulked to one side, leaving the 
ranks without even stopping to pick up his gun. 

Philip, in a rage, picked the musket up and hurled 
it after him. It struck the boy on the leg, making a 
bruise that showed for many a day after that, but he 
did not feel it at the time. 

Some one slapped him with the flat of a sword, 
ordering him to get back into line. But the bullets 
were whizzing in every direction ; instead of doing 
as he was told Christopher broke into a run, making 
off in the direction where there was least sound of 
firing. 

He found, as he ran, that he was not alone. 
Others were straggling past him. They were out- 
stripping him, because his leg had been really in- 
jured, although he was not aware of it at the time. 

Presently the entire line gave way in more or less 
confusion, bearing Philip with it. 

Christopher did not see Philip again until late 
in the day. The American forces had rallied after 
their confused retreat, and given a good account of 
themselves, but Christopher was not with them. He 
was in the rear, limping, for the sake of appearances 
and his conscience ; but the blow on his leg had not 
prevented him from gaining a safe place. 

It was supper time when the crestfallen young pa- 
triot found his company again and crept up to it. 
It showed that he had courage to return at all. He 
might have deserted, as many of the soldiers did 
desert. The organization of the Continental army 



ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 179 

was loose. There was no strong government behind 
to compel their loyalty, and Washington was too 
wise to be severe with his troops. Many of his men 
made it a practice to enlist in times of danger and 
return to their farms when danger was past. De- 
sertion was winked at more or less ; the men must 
be indulged, or they would grow sulky, and recruit- 
ing in time of necessity would be difficult. So Chris- 
topher might have deserted, but he did not. Instead, 
he returned to face his comrades ; to face Philip 
Worth, especially. 

Philip greeted him with a roar of reproach, sprang 
to his feet, and descended upon him in a towering 
rage. 

" Strike me," begged Christopher, with a look of 
pathetic remorse in his eye. " Strike me. Kill me, 
if you wish. I deserve it." 

Philip, disarmed by his humility, only took him by 
the collar and shook him roundly, abusing him the 
while with strong names. When he was released 
from the other's grasp Christopher crept up to the 
edge of the group about the camp-fire and waited 
for night to hide him. 

It was many days before his patient good temper 
and efforts at amends won him some slight favor 
again among his comrades. It was weeks before he 
had largely outlived the blot he had brought upon 
his record. It was months before he showed the 
heroic strain that ran through his fiber, and became 
a hero to them all. 



i8o REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

Having done what he could against the enemy, 
Washington was compelled to settle down while 
Howe captured Forts Mercer and Mifflin, which 
guarded the Delaware River below Philadelphia and 
threatened the British communications by sea. The 
forts fell after a heroic defense, to which Washing- 
ton was unable to contribute. 

Late in the fall General Howe moved out against 
the Americans, entrenched at Whitemarsh, with the 
intention of driving Washington over the moun- 
tains, where he would not molest the British in their 
occupation of Philadelphia. But Washington was 
too strong to be attacked, and would not be enticed 
into making an attack, although there was great 
clamor against him behind his back because he 
would not fight. Congress was in a stew over his 
inactivity, and there were many who compared his 
military conduct with the recent victory over Bur- 
goyne in the north, pointing out what Gates had 
done, and what Washington did not do. It is diffi- 
cult to believe that there were any unreasonable 
enough to make serious comparisons between the 
two. Washington had held the field through tre- 
mendous difficulties against a superior force ; the 
other was a sluggard and a bungler who had nearly 
wrecked the work that others had begun in the north. 
But there were plenty, in and out of the army, who 
were lively enough with their tongues in belittling 
Washington. 

Winter was approaching. Indeed, it was already 



ANOTHER SORT OF HERO i8i 

upon the two armies. The British were comfortably 
quartered in Philadelphia. All Washington could 
do was to settle down near at hand, where he could 
prevent the enemy from communicating with New 
York, and wait for the spring. His men were in a 
pitiable condition, without food and clothing suffi- 
cient for a severe season ; many of them without 
blankets or shoes. But they must be kept together, 
and the spirit of the army must be kept alive through 
the winter months. 

Washington chose his position at Valley Forge, 
twenty miles from Philadelphia, on the Schuylkill 
River. It was naturally a strong position among 
wooded hills, easy of defense. The army arrived 
there in December, when snow was already on the 
ground, and proceeded to make it into a winter 
camp. Streets were laid out, and the soldiers were 
set to work building log huts, cutting their material 
from the hillsides. 

It was then that Christopher Martin began to 
show the stuff he was made of. The men were 
hungry, cold, dispirited. The prospect of a long 
winter in the wilderness where they found them- 
selves was disheartening. As their spirits fell, 
Christopher's arose. He was possessed of an in- 
domitable, cheerful fortitude. He fell to with an 
axe, chopping down trees and lopping off their 
branches, cheering his companions with his chatter, 
never complaining, doing more than his share of the 
work, and taking less than his share of the food. 



i82 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

For two weeks the threadbare soldiers worked at 
their cabins, up and down the streets that had been 
laid out over the hills. The shrill December wind, 
frequently filled with biting snow, cut through their 
thin clothes ; many of them were without hats ; 
many of them left little tracks of blood in the 
snow, where they waded barefooted at their rough 
labor. 

All they had to live on for two weeks, while they 
were building the huts, was flour, mixed with water 
and baked into cakes, with now and then a strip of 
tough beef, or a box of spoiled fish. It was meager 
fare for men compelled to work hard all day, and 
sleep out on the frozen ground at night, with noth- 
ing to keep them warm but a few scraps of worn 
blankets and the open camp-fire. There was plenty 
of grumbling over it all, with now and then a 
dangerous outburst of dissatisfaction. 

Philip Worth was one of the loudest in his com- 
plaints. He was willing enough to stand up and 
fight with powder and ball, but this slow endurance 
of hardships that promised to become much worse 
before they got better was more than his patience 
could stand. It was Little Chris who smoothed his 
temper at such times, coaxing him into better hu- 
mor, or making him forget his sufferings by telling 
a jolly story, or getting Philip started on a narration 
of some of his own martial exploits ; a device that 
was usually quite successful. 

When the work began Christopher had a blanket 



ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 183 

somewhat better than most of those in the company. 
He had taken good care of it. One morning when 
Philip Worth got up shivering from the snow where 
he had been sleeping, he perceived that Little 
Chris's blanket was gone. The boy was lying un- 
covered on the ground, blue and shaking with the 
cold. 

" If any thief stole my blanket I'd kill him," 
growled Philip, scornfully, catching Christopher's 
eye. 

Christopher, making a sign of silence, cocked his 
head toward one of their number who had been ail- 
ing for two or three days. The sick man lay asleep 
under Christopher's blanket. Philip said nothing ; 
he only looked in a puzzled and surprised way at 
his chum. He was beginning, perhaps, to under- 
stand something about the manner of courage that 
Christopher possessed. 

The houses were finished at last ; rough log huts, 
with mud in the chinks, and log-and-mud chimneys. 
Sixteen men were assigned to each. There were no 
floors and no beds ; not even straw to keep their 
bodies from the frozen ground. 

It was late in the afternoon when the squad con- 
taining Philip and Christopher was ready to move 
into theirs. They built up a roaring fire in the fire- 
place, and were beginning to feel a little warmth, 
for the first time in two weeks, in spite of the wind 
that whistled through the chinks and about the crude 
door, when one of the number noticed that Chris- 



i84 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS ;|! 



topher was not with them. " Where's Christopher ? " 
he asked. ♦ 

" Blessed if I know," returned Philip. " Run away 
again, like as not." Philip had a habit of saying 
things he did not mean, for show. 

A man lying in a blanket near the fire arose on an 
elbow. His cheeks were sunken, fever burned in 
his hollow eyes ; fever, and anger. " If he's gone, 
he's gone to heaven," he murmured, in a rattling 
voice. " Little Chris isn't the man to run away from 
thisP It was the sick man to whom Christopher 
had given his blanket. 

Before Philip could justify himself in a reply, the 
door flew open, admitting a prodigious gust of cold 
wind, and Christopher stood inside. He was hold- 
ing something tightly wrapped beneath his coat. 

"Shut the door!" yelled Philip Worth. "It's 
cold enough in here without your letting in the 
whole north zone." 

" All right, Phil," returned Christopher, cheerily. 
'• I shut it as quick as I could, Phil, with both my 
hands full." He glanced about among the others 
with a bright smile of expectancy on his face. " I've 
brought you something, comrades," he said. *' I've 
brought something for a little house-warming. I 
thought we ought to celebrate our moving in." 

" A fine place to celebrate moving into," growled 
Philip Worth, as Christopher approached the fire, 
bearing the mysterious bundle hidden under his coat. 

" Hold your tongue, if you can't use it civil," one 



ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 185 

of the others retorted. " If you had some of Little 
Chris's spirit, you'd be better off, and so would we, 
Phil Worth ! " 

" Phil's right," quoth Christopner, briskly, seeing 
a storm-cloud gathering. *' 'Tain't much of a place, 
and I'm afraid 'tain't much of a celebration ; but if 
it's the best we can do, what then ? We'll only have 
to pretend a bit, that's all. Look here." 

Kneeling down on the ground before the fire, he 
lowered the bundle from his coat into the light of 
the roaring blaze. He had brought a chicken, and 
a duck, and a quarter of ham, with a few potatoes 
tied up in a handkerchief. 

A great shout went up at sight of the promised 
feast. " Where'd ye come by them. Little Chris ? " 
cried Philip Worth, in immense good humor all at 
once. " Been prowling, eh ? " 

*' Never you mind where I came by them, Phil 
Worth," laughed the boy. " I've had my eyes 
about me these days, and when we got through to- 
night with our work I made up my mind it was a 
good time for a little feast. I'll tell you this much, 
though : no one has come to any harm by this. I 
paid for what I took, and there's an end of it." 

Philip Worth glowered at him. " You young 
jackanapes ! Do you mean to tell us that you've 
known all this time where you could lay hands on 
all this food, and left us to starve without bringing 
it in ? If I had my way I know how I would punish 
such selfishness." 



i86 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

" 'Tis lucky enough for us that 'twas not the 
other way around, and we lay here starving waiting 
for you to bring such food in to us," snapped one of 
the soldiers. " And what's more, Phil Worth, if you 
don't keep a civil tongue in your head you'll get 
none of this, for we'll not stand to hear Little Chris 
so abused by any man." 

*' Phil is only fooling," interposed Christopher. 

" Yes ; just the way you were fooling at German- 
town," sneered Phil. 

" In Heaven's name, cease this bickering and 
give me food," came a voice from the ground. " I'm 
starving ; can't you see that I'm starving ? " It was 
the sick man who lay in Christopher's blanket. 

They scarcely waited for the food to cook before 
they tore it into portions and handed it around. 
They devoured it like famished wolves, without 
speaking a word until it was gone. There was only 
the sound of human teeth against bones, and the 
smacking of lips, and heavy breathing that sounded 
like the growls of animals. It was no time at all 
until there was not a scrap of flesh left on the bones, 
which were put aside for the soup they would make 
on the morrow. 

That night they went to sleep in better spirits 
than they had known for many days ; even Philip 
Worth was in a good humor. Philip was awakened 
in the morning by a poke from Christopher. Lift- 
ing himself on an elbow, and rubbing his eyes, he 
saw Christopher sitting bolt upright, looking toward 



ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 187 

the soldier to whom he had given his blanket. *' He's 
gone," whispered Christopher. 

" You've lost your wits," returned Philip, scorn- 
fully. " He's there, big as life. What ails ye, lad ? 
Did ye fetch a bottle last night that ye did not pass 
round ? " 

" I know he's there," answered Christopher. 
" But he's dead ! " 

Philip sat up with a start. " How long has he 
been dead ? " 

" I don't know. I just woke up and went over to 
see if he was all right, and found him — that way. I 
didn't know what to do." 

" He don't need that blanket any more," snarled 
Philip, reaching over and snatching it from the dead 
body. 

Christopher made no comment. " He won't need 
this, either," he said, presently, handing something 
to Philip wrapped in his handkerchief. 

'* What's this ? " asked the other, surprised, fum- 
bling at the knotted ends of the rag. 

" Nothing," said Christopher, still gazing thought- 
fully at the dead soldier. " Only something I had 
left over from last night. I was going to give it to 
him, but now he won't need it." 

" Reckon he had too much last night, and that's 
what he died of," observed Philip, coolly unwrap- 
ping the handkerchief and examining the contents. 
" Why, you little villain, you ate nothing at all of 
your ration ! " he cried. 



i88 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

" I was saving it for him," Christopher explained, 
simply. 

Philip stared at him. " Here," he said, reluctantly. 
" I won't take it." 

" I wish you would," urged Christopher. " I get 
along very well on what they give us. You see, 
you're bigger than I am, and need more to eat. 
Please keep it." 

A strange moisture appeared in Philip's eye. 
" We'll go halvers on it, anyway," he suggested. 

" All right," agreed Christopher, 

" Hadn't we better eat it now ? " Philip went on. 

" You can," said Christopher, putting his own 
share in his shirt. "I'm going to get some more 
wood and build up the fire." 

The first death among them had a variety of 
effects. Some were cast down by the event ; others 
were thrown into a state of desperate gayety, fore- 
seeing their own possible fate ; some pitied the victim ; 
some rejoiced for his escape. Philip Worth was ob- 
served to be less morose and surly ; although whether 
it was the ominous visit of death to their little band 
that had awakened him to thoughts of his own 
future life, or whether it was an insight into the soul 
of Christopher Martin that softened him it might be 
difficult to say. 

The next day no rations were distributed but a 
handful of sour beans to each man. Those in the 
hut with Christopher were better off than most, 
having had a comparatively hearty meal the night 



ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 189 

before. But when two more days passed with no 
food excepting some more of the sour beans, they 
began to lose strength and courage. 

PhiHp Worth was inclined to be rebellious against 
conditions. " What did they bring us here for, if 
they are not going to feed us, now they have got us 
here ? " he complained. " I might be at home all 
this time, with my own people, warm and with at 
least enough to eat, instead of starving and freezing 
here in this wilderness. Why don't they get us 
food ? Why don't they send us some blankets ? If 
they want us to keep on fighting for them, why 
don't they think of us a little and give us what we 
need to keep body and soul together ? I suppose 
they think that when a soldier is not fighting a battle 
he crawls into a cocoon and sleeps like a butterfly 
until the next battle." By " they " he meant the Con- 
tinental Congress. " I'll tell you what, for one : if 
we don't get food before night I am going to take 
my leave of this sink of misery." 

Christopher, sidling up to him, handed him a little 
package, slyly drawing it from his coat. " Wait," 
he said. " Don't give up. Stay with us, Phil. If 
the British should attack we'd need you." 

"Aye, if the British should attack I'd stay fast 
enough ; but as for lying around idle and starving 
to death, it is quite another matter," retorted Philip 
Worth. However, he took the package, which con- 
tained the remnant of the food which Christopher 
had saved from the previous evening. 



I90 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

" Lad, lad," he said to the boy, when he had 
munched the last of it. " You should have kept this 
for yourself and not have been giving it to me. 
Why, ye eat barely nothing at all, boy." 

" That's all right, Philip," returned Christopher, 
cheerfully. " You are so much bigger than I that you 
need more to eat. I am getting along all right." 

Days crept into weary nights ; the stars dragged 
themselves through their dark rounds until they 
emerged again in gray day, and still the soldiers of 
liberty clung to life in their little bare huts. The 
weather was ferocious ; it almost seemed as though 
nature conspired with the British against the patriots. 
There was scarcely a day when snow did not drive 
through camp on the north wind ; the sun rarely 
shone ; there was no cheer under the leaden sky. 
The houses were cold ; the wind cut through the 
mud-smeared chinks. There was nothing on the 
floor to keep them from the frozen ground. They 
had plenty of fire-wood, but their chimney did not 
draw well ; either all the smoke blew into the room, 
or all the heat rushed up the chimney. Their clothing, 
which many of them had worn since the spring be- 
fore, was falling to pieces. Overcoats were scarce 
and poor, blankets were scarcer. Of new shoes there 
were none ; many of the men wrapped straw about 
their feet for warmth when they went out on picket 
duty. 

To fortify themselves against all this hardship 
the men had nothing. Every day something was 



ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 191 



rationed among them — a little flour, a few potatoes, 
some boxes of old fish, usually spoiled, a scrap of 
lean, tough meat — but not enough to keep a man 
in comfort of body even under the best conditions ; 
not enough for a lazy man's diet in summer. It was 
not long, in those circumstances, before actual famine 
began to be apparent in the ranks. Men staggered 
in their walk, staring dazedly ahead of them into the 
drifting snow-laden air ; their bodies were gaunt, 
their cheeks filled with strange lines and tensions 
and shadows. They began to sicken and die. Over 
half the force was not fit for service. 

The men had scarcely finished their huts before 
they were set to work on a series of forts which 
Washington planned and threw up to prevent an 
attack by the British, which he was in dread of, for 
he could not have made much of a resistance. The 
men grumbled, some of them, but it was lucky for 
them that they had work to do which took their 
minds from their troubles. 

Squads were sent out to bring in wood, and to 
gather forage from neighboring farms. The farmers 
had little left ; most of it had been bought by the 
English, and the countrymen did not care to sell 
to the Continentals, for the Continental money was 
not worth much. 

Christopher Martin was the life and the soul of the 
squad with which he lived. He was always cheerful, 
and never lost his patience. If too many days went 
by without bringing a fairish meal, Christopher would 



192 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

give his belt a pull and make some joke about it. 
" There won't be much for the British to hit next 
year, if this keeps up," he would say. " I am get- 
ting thin at a powerful fast clip." Or : " I'll soon be 
like the horse the farmer trained to live on a pound 
of straw a day. Just as the animal had learned how 
to get along on it, he up and died on the farmer." 

Christopher spent his spare time when off picket 
or fatigue duty in knocking together rough furniture 
for their hut. He made a table and some stools and 
benches out of wood cut from the hills, splitting 
trunks for the flat table-tops ; he stuck up bedsteads, 
and filled them with dried grass and leaves, which 
he gathered at great pains ; dressing the tops of 
them over with fir boughs from some fir trees that 
he found in a hollow a mile or more from camp. He 
had to get permission to leave camp, but it was not 
difficult to do so. 

Frequently when he came back from expeditions 
in search of some little added comfort for their quar- 
ters he would bring food, as he had done on the 
night of their house-warming. He never would eat 
any of it himself, always telling them that he had 
eaten his share on the way. They all wondered 
where he could find anything to eat, for no one else 
had such success. Finally they learned that a cousin 
of his lived five miles away, who had a hidden cellar 
in which he kept some things that he did not want 
the army to get hold of. Christopher made this trip 
of ten miles whenever he had time to spare. 



ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 193 

In the middle of January the second member of 
their httle party died. Two days later seven of them 
were in the hospital. It seemed strange to Christo 
pher that any of them were alive. He wondered at 
his own endurance. After the first week he felt that 
he would not be able to survive another day ; but 
the days came and went, leaving him still alive and 
with strength enough to do what he had to do. He 
got used to being cold all the time ; got used to be- 
ing hungry all the time ; got used to being tired all 
the time. He got so used to it that it began to 
seem to him that life had always been like that ; that 
there had never been anything but this slow, creep- 
ing, dull, dead existence since he could remember. 
He did not think, he did not feel, he did not worry ; 
he only dragged through hour after hour, waiting 
for something to change. But all the time he kept 
up a cheerful countenance for his comrades. He 
felt that he could do that much, if he could not stand 
up bravely and look into the muzzles of an enemy's 
guns. 

Philip Worth was not getting along so well. Phys- 
ically, his condition was good enough, but his temper 
grew more and more sour. He grumbled at every- 
thing and everybody ; he began to be abusive ; he 
began to bully the others, and make them stand 
around. He took a blanket by force from one of the 
squad ; he made another give up a coat. He bullied 
them into giving him more than his share of food. 
He was quite a tyrant in a small way, and was be- 



194 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

coming unendurable, when something happened to 
change his mood. 

Christopher came in one afternoon from one of his 
exploring expeditions empty-handed, but filled with 
intense excitement. He found Philip standing in 
front of the fire, holding forth to a company of men, 
many of whom had wandered in from other huts 
near by. " What do they think a soldier is made 
of?" Phil was saying, his face distended with passion, 
and his arms working frantically through the air. 
" What do they think we can live on ? The dried 
blood of our old wounds ? The frost that gathers in 
our hair when we sleep? Do they think we can 
break our frozen fingers off like sugar sticks and 
suck them for our life? Why don't they feed us? 
Why don't they send us some clothing? Because 
they don't want to, that's why. Because they have 
something to do that they think is of more impor- 
tance. Because they have their own bellies and purses 
to line, every one of them, from the President ot 
Congress down to the negro porter that sweeps out 
after their meetings. Do you know that the roads 
are lined with food meant for us, that lies rotting be- 
cause nobody will take the trouble to get it to us ? 
Do you know that there are hogsheads and barrels 
and crates and bundles of food and clothing going 
to waste in ditches and behind hedges, because no- 
body is willing to turn over a dollar to get a horse 
to fetch it in? How much longer do you think I'm 
going to stay here and freeze ? Not much, I can 



ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 195 

tell you. Look at these fat officers lolling around 
their quarters, living on the best of the land, with 
wine to wash it down with ! What do they care for 
us, who are starving to death out in the trenches, so 
long as they have something to put in their stomachs 
and a bit of wine to set their fingers tingling ? They 
are all alike ; one is as bad as another, and General 
Wash " 

He got no farther. " Stop ! " screamed Christo- 
pher Martin, bouncing in front of the furious Philip. 
" Hold your uncivil tongue, Phil Worth, and listen." 
Worth, too surprised to resent the sudden interrup- 
tion, stood staring at him with open eyes and ears. 

" Listen to me, while I tell you what I just saw," 
Little Chris went on. " I wasn't going to tell about 
it, but perhaps I'd better. When I was coming up 
through the woods just now I heard somebody in 
the bushes, talking. He seemed to be in great dis- 
tress. I thought perhaps one of the men had given 
out and fallen in the snow, or that he had frozen his 
feet, or that the cold might have dazed him, so I 
turned aside and went toward him. What do you 
think I saw ? " 

" What ? " asked three or four. 

" I saw a man kneeling in the snow. He was 
praying to Almighty God to help his men. There 
were tears in his eyes. Do you know who that man 
was ? " 

" Washington ? " submitted one. 

" George Washington ! " Christopher went on. 



196 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

" You stand here and say things about him," he said, 
turning full on PhiHp Worth. " You think he doesn't 
care so long as he is in a house with plenty to eat. 
I tell you, it is breaking his heart to have us suffer- 
ing like this. I tell you, he would trade places with 
all of us this second, if it would do any good ; if we 
could all go to live in the house by his coming out 
here to live in a hut. I tell you that he is having a 
harder time than we are having. Do you suppose 
that there is a single man that dies but what General 
Washington says to himself, ' I might have prevented 
that ' ? Do you suppose he hears the sick groaning 
in the hospital without saying to himself, * They are 
there because they are loyal to me ' ? It's little 
enough he is asking of us, to stay here and be true 
to him during this winter. He's carrying more than 
any of us can know. He's got the whole burden of 
the war on his shoulders now. If it wasn't for him, 
the British would be overrunning our country right 
now, and half the colonies would be back under the 
king. You know it yourself, Philip Worth. If there 
is anything we can do to help him, we ought to do 
it, and thank God for the chance. If it helps him to 
stay here, and make the most of it, it is doing little 
enough. And here you stand and talk about run- 
ning off ! Maybe I ran once when the bullets were 
flying, but it's going to take a little more than snow 
and a cold wind to drive me away this time." 

No one said a word. Some of the men who had 
come from other cabins sneaked out and went back 



ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 197 

to their own fires. Philip Worth, standing staring 
into the flames for a space, reeled over and sprawled 
out on his couch. 

" But I can't stand it," he whined, burying his 
head in his arms. " I can't stand it." 

Christopher slipped over and sat beside him on the 
pile of leaves. "What can't you stand, old Phil?" 
he asked, putting a gentle hand on the great bony 
shoulders. / 

•' Oh, the cold, the cold. It bites my bones. It 
gnaws them ; it never stops. I do-nothing but ache, 
ache, ache, ache, morning and night, hour after hour, 
day in and day out. I can't get warm. My feet, 
look at my feet ! Frozen three times ; I can scarce 
bear my weight on them. And the hunger ! Oh, 
God, I am so hungry." 

"'Tain't going to be much longer, Phil," Little 
Chris coaxed. 

"It ain't; it can't," Worth echoed. "I can't 
stand it ! We're on picket to-night. How can I 
go on picket ? I can't walk ; I can't stand ; I am 
freezing in the hut. It is more than human flesh can 
stand." 

•' I'll take your place on sentinel duty, Phil. No- 
body '11 mind." 

" Will you. Little Chris ? Will you? " eagerly. 

"Always. You stay inside and keep comfort- 
able." 

" Comfortable ! " echoed Philip, sarcastically. 
" Lots of comfort I'll get anywhere hereabouts I " 



198 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

" It isn't so bad inside as it is out, though," Chris- 
topher suggested. 

Philip made no answer. He merely rolled over 
on his bed and curled up, like a cat, trying to keep 
himself warm. 

There was no phase of the life in Valley Forge so 
terrible as standing sentinel. Often barefooted, al- 
ways onl}^ half clad, the soldiers were compelled to 
wait out in the snow with no protection from the icy 
blast. It was work that had to be done ; there was 
always a chance that Howe would move out from 
Philadelphia and attack ; there was always the need 
to watch for spies who tried to get into the camp and 
learn conditions, or stir up mutiny among the dis- 
tressed troops. The officers made the task as easy 
as they could. The sentinels were left on duty for 
only an hour at a time, and were called upon as in- 
frequently as possible. 

It was eight that night when Christopher's turn 
came. Philip was supposed to follow him. " Worth 
is sick to-night," he told the guard officer, as he 
marched out to his post on the line of breastworks. 
" I told him I would take his turn." 

It was a bitter night. Not a star shone in the sky 
to give any light. A savage wind whipped out of 
the northeast, driving snow before it, wrapping 
Christopher's ragged garments about his legs, pierc- 
ing him to the quick. His toes were naked in the 
snow, escaping from his torn shoes. He stooped 
from time to time to warm them with fingers scarcely 



ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 199 

less cold. He had to take care in handling his 
musket lest his wet fingers freeze to the steel. He 
stood with back hunched against the blast, hands in 
pockets, a handkerchief tied about his chin and ears, 
shivering and miserable. 

He thought of his warm fire at home ; of his 
mother and sisters, ready always to cook him some- 
thing warm and wrap him in his snug bed if he 
should return. He thought of his stout old father, 
who had urged him to go to war, and of his little 
brother, in whose eyes he was a hero. The thought 
of the brother brought a flush of hot shame to his 
cheeks. What if the lad should learn of his behavior 
at Germantown ? There would be no escape from 
the young lad's condemnation ; his judgment would 
be severe and immovable. . . . He took off 
his hat, placed it on the ground, and stood on it, to 
keep his toes out of the snow. 

The two hours passed, and Christopher crept back 
to his cabin. The others were silent in sleep ; or in 
what approached sleep — a dull stupor of low vitality ; 
a sluggishness of mind and body, the result of their 
suffering. He crept into his bunk beside Philip. 
He felt pitiably weak ; he had never felt quite so 
weak and forlorn. It seemed to him that he would 
never be able to stir a muscle again ; they were as 
stifT and heavy and insensible as leather. The leg 
that Philip had hit with a musket at Germantown 
ached bitterly. 

As he passed into slumber, it was more as though 



200 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

the soul left and floated out of his body than it was 
like a loss of unconsciousness in the usual manner 
of sleep. All night long he dreamed of his home, 
and awoke in the morning with a sense of having 
been there. He could not rid himself of the picture ; 
for the first time he felt tempted to steal away and 
go home, if only for a week or two of rest and re- 
covery. But he stifled the temptation, remembering 
the sight he had seen in the woods the day before ; 
remembering the debt he had to pay for Germantown. 

Philip Worth was like a child thenceforth ; like a 
spoiled and pouting sick child. He was sullen and 
surly, giving short answers to every one excepting 
Christopher, before whom he seemed to be ashamed. 
He lay in his bunk throughout the day and night, 
moving only to warm himself now and then at the 
fire, or to help himself to the rations that were brought 
and heated at the fireplace — you could scarcely say 
they were cooked, for the starving men would not 
wait for that. 

Matters seemed to be going from bad to worse. 
In the entire army there was not a man who was not 
suffering from hardship and exposure ; who had not 
been frost-bitten, or whose health had not broken un- 
der the ordeal. You would have seen blood in half 
the tracks in the trampled snow through the rough 
village of cabins. You would have seen men like 
living skeletons stalking back and forth in clothing 
the very sight of which would have made you shiver 
in such weather. Warmth was impossible ; sometimes 



ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 201 

the men were less cold than others, but they were 
always cold. They had no place to go to get warm ; 
distant spring was their only hope. 

Surprising that they endured it all with any 
patience ! Surprising that they all did not steal 
away by night — as many of them did ! Surprising 
that there was one company left to face the terrors 
of that desolate winter ! It was Washington that 
held them ; the lofty spirit of the man ; the brave, 
determined devotion of his example among them. 
Officers continually moved about the camp, cheering 
up the men, expostulating with those who were in 
mutinous mood, coaxing, arguing with them. Many 
left, but more stayed. 

After the night on sentinel duty when he came 
home with such a strange, new feeling of exhaustion, 
Christopher Martin had many returns of the sensa- 
tion. A half hour of exposure in the open air was 
enough to make him numb from head to foot ; to 
give him a peculiar, floaty feeling, as though his soul 
were absent from his body. One day he caught a re- 
flection of himself in a pool of water, which had been 
cleared of ice so that the men might get drinking 
water. The sight he saw sent him back on his heels 
with a shock of surprise and apprehension ; for a mo- 
ment he believed that he had beheld his own ghost. 

The thought grew upon him. He was his own 
ghost. He was wandering about on the cold surface 
of the world unburied. There were so many ghosts, 
he fancied, that no one had noticed him particularly. 



202 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

A strange surprise the British would have, if they 
came out to attack, and found themselves fighting an 
army of ghosts 1 

With the feeling came the alluring picture of his 
home. What harm would it do if he were to take 
an unasked leave for a few days, and recuperate 
there ? He would not have to be gone for more than 
a month — or two, at the most. No one would miss 
him ; he would be back in time for any fighting that 
might take place. 

He was sitting beside the fireplace late on an 
afternoon in February, struggling against the impulse 
to take a vacation ; fighting it down angrily, when 
his attention was attracted to Philip, who had sud- 
denly raised himself from his bunk, and was sitting 
on the edge of it, with his long, thin shanks reaching 
to the ground. "What's the use in all this?" 
Philip was demanding, savagely, blowing into his 
knuckles to keep them warm — his breath showed in 
a little gray cloud, so cold was it inside the four log 
walls. " What's the use in all this ? Why should I 
wait here and starve, and freeze ? I am not doing 
any good. I'm going home. I'm going home. 
Who will go home with me ? Little Chris, will you 
go home with me ? " 

Chris sprang to his feet in unheralded rage. 
"No," he cried. "No, nor you won't go, either!" 
He made a bound, leaped full upon Philip's broad 
breast, and bore him back on the bed, in the sudden- 
ness of the attack. " Curse you 1 " he snarled, dig- 



ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 203 

ging his fingers into the hairy throat of his chum. 
" Curse you for a coward ! You won't go home 
either ! You'll stay here until the candle is burnt out, 
or I'll find out why!" 

The others, seeing little Chris throwing himself on 
the huge Philip, sprang after him in alarm and pulled 
him off, expecting to see him shortly beaten for his 
temerity. But Philip only lay back on the bed wide- 
eyed, staring at Christopher, and making his lips go 
silendy on some syllables. Christopher sank back 
by the fire, weak and trembling. 

That night it was his turn to go on sentinel duty. 
There had been no food all day. They were expect- 
ing it any minute, but Christopher could not wait- 
Picking up his musket, he started to go out. As he 
passed Philip on the bunk he stopped and leaned 
over him. " Phil," he said. " Old Phil ! You won't 
go, will you? You'll stick it out. I'm going to 
stand your turn on sentry, Phil. You won't go while 
I'm gone, will you ? " But Philip would not answer 
him. 

He floundered out into the night. All day it had 
been storming ; the storm had waxed into a blizzard 
now. Christopher could scarcely see the forms of 
the huts lining the streets as he struggled through 
the fresh drifts to report for duty. The snow snapped 
in his face and stung his eyes ; it was a harsh night 
for any man to be abroad, to say nothing of one-half 
starved, whom the winter had already worn down 
desperately. 



204 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

His beat was on a bleak angle of the entrenched 
lines, exposed to every wind. Deep drifts had 
formed behind the bank of earth, more than half 
covering a field-piece that stood hunched across the 
top of the works, looking harmless enough against 
the force of the storm. 

" No British to-night," said Christopher to himself, 
" and lucky enough it is. What with the wind blind- 
ing us, and the snow drowning our muskets, we could 
make but a sorry show against an enemy." 

The last sentry had broken a rough path through 
the drifts, but Christopher had difficulty in following 
it back and forth. The tumbril of the gun served as 
a guiding post. From there he walked along close 
to the embankment until he came to an angle, 
which was the end of his beat, where he turned and 
paced back to the gun, time after time, time after 
time. 

He did not feel the cold. He had been cold for so 
long that he had forgotten what it was to be warm. 
He did not feel tired, or weak. He did not feel any- 
thing ; the old sensation of floating away from him- 
self came over him after he had been pacing back 
and forth for a short time. He wandered up and 
down like one in a trance ; from the gun to the 
angle ; from the angle to the gun, over and over 
again. 

One time when he arrived at the gun he did not 
turn at once to go back. " I'll stop here a minute," 
he said to himself. " I'll just stop here for a minute. 



ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 205 



Nobody is coming." He leaned against the wheel 
of the cannon. 

He was aware of being tremendously drowsy. He 
had never had such a desire to sleep. " None of that, 
my boy," he said to himself, and brought his eyes 
open with a jerk. 

The lids closed again ; his head nodded. He was 
aroused by the snapping of the back of his neck when 
his head bobbed forward. " Here, Christopher," he 
warned himself, " this will never do. That's the way 
men feel when they are freezing to death. You'd 
better keep awake." 

The better to keep awake, he started down his 
beat again, and staggered to the angle in the works. 
There he stopped again, and the drowsiness seized 
him. 

He felt a hand on his arm. It was the sentry that 
had the beat next him. " Wake up, Little Chris," 
said the sentry. "You know what happens to sen- 
tries that go to sleep on post, don't you?" 

" They freeze," answered Christopher. 

" Or they are shot for it." Christopher was not 
afraid of being shot ; the strict rules of military dis- 
cipline were not enforced in the Continental army. 
" They only freeze," he insisted. 

'* That's just as bad," the man replied. " Wake 
up." 

Christopher stumbled back to the gun. He did 
not dare to stop now ; the desire to sleep was over- 
powering him even when he walked. He turned, 



2o6 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

and hurried back to the angle, the other end of his 
beat, floundering in the drifts. 

As he wheeled to return, a gust of wind struck 
him and swung him off his feet. He faltered a few 
steps, and plunged into the drift. It was wonder- 
fully soft. He made up his mind that he would lie 
there for a minute ; just for a minute, to rest. 

The next thing he knew he was being shaken vio- 
lently, and some one was rubbing snow on the back 
of his neck. " Close squeeze, that," said a voice. 
" Another five minutes, and he would have been 
stiff." 

" 'Tis too soon to be sure now," said another. 
" Come, fetch him this way. Make him walk. 
Keep him walking. Halloo, there ! Are you 
awake ? Wake up ! You are freezing to death, 
lad." Fingers gave his nose a prodigious tweek ; 
some one shook him again, and dragged him on 
his feet through the drifts. 

He was before the door of his own hut before he 
was fully aware of what was taking place. " What's 
the matter ? What has happened ? " he asked, be- 
wildered, when he recognized the spot. 

" Picket relief found you asleep and freezing," 
they told him. " Here 3^ou are, now ; make your- 
self snug." 

He opened the door and passed in. The fluttering 
fire on the hearth showed the bunks about the wall, 
and the rough table and stools he had made. He went 
toward the bunk where he slept with Philip Worth. 



ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 207 

At the edge of it he stopped and gave a little 
start of surprise. The bunk was empty. " He's 
gone," murmured Christopher. *' Old Phil is gone ! 
Too bad ! Too bad ! Old Phil ! " 

With a deep sigh of exhaustion he threw himself 
upon the bunk and fell asleep. The blankets were 
gone, but he was too tired to notice that ; too tired 
to have pulled them over him if they had been there. 

One of the soldiers, stirring in the morning before 
the others, noticed that there was only one man in 
the bunk occupied by Philip and Christopher. He 
could not understand, and went to see which one it 
was. 

" Hello, here," he called out. " Old Phil's gone ! " 

"Gone!" exclaimed two or three. "Gone where?" 

" OfiE — home, I suppose." He bent over to see 
whether Christopher was awake ; perhaps Little 
Chris might know something about it. 

He straightened again quickly, turning a face of 
surprise and shock upon the others. 

" What's the matter ? " they cried. 

" Little Chris," was the answer. " He's gone, too. 
Home." 

The boy was dead. 

That was the difference between the courage of 
Christopher Martin and of Philip Worth. 



CHAPTER IX 

THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 

You have doubtless heard of "Mad Anthony" 
Wayne ; and you have doubtless always supposed 
that he was called " Mad Anthony " because of reck- 
less daring in batde. Almost every one believes that 
is the reason he was called " Mad Anthony," — and 
almost every one is wrong. General Wayne was as 
brave a soldier as ever fought, but he was most 
cautious and painstaking in his fighting. He never 
undertook to do anything without first weighing all 
the chances, and being quite certain that the balance 
was in his favor. He was not at all a Mad Anthony. 

This is how he came to be called " Mad Anthony." 
It is rather interesting, and it shows how easy it is 
for little things to creep into the popular opinion 
concerning historical characters and lead to a mis- 
judgment of them. There was a man in Wayne's 
army corps during the Revolution known as " Jemy 
the Rover." Jemy was a whimsical, simple-minded 
fellow, up to his pranks. One day General Wayne 
had him put in the guard-house for something he 
had done ; for Wayne was a strict officer who would 
stand no nonsense. When Jemy was released he 
asked a sergeant whether the general was " mad or 



THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 209 

in fun." The sergeant replied : " The general has 
been very much displeased with your disorderly con- 
duct, and a repetition of it will be followed by con- 
finement and twenty-nine lashes, well laid on." 

"Then," said Jemy, " Anthony is mad. Clear the 
coast for Mad Anthony's friend," 

The soldiers, who loved their commander, took up 
the phrase and made a nickname of it, as men will 
when they are fond of another. To be called by a 
nickname usually proves that others like you. In a 
short time General Wayne came generally to be 
spoken of affectionately among the soldiery as " Mad 
Anthony " ; the name spread through the army and 
into civil life, and it has endured until this day. But 
most people, as I have told you, believe that Wayne 
got it because of foolhardy bravery on the field of 
battle. 

There were a number of incidents in his career as 
a soldier to make that mistaken theory easy to be- 
lieve. He did things that thoughtless persons would 
consider evidence of recklessness. For instance : 
once, when he was in Georgia fighting the British 
and Tories, he unexpectedly came upon a force of 
them much larger than his own. They met in a 
narrow causeway through a swamp. The situation 
was critical ; the Americans were in great danger of 
being exterminated. Wayne did not hesitate a mo- 
ment, but ordered a charge, which so surprised the 
enemy that they broke and fled That seemed like 
a foolish thing to do ; but Wayne saw that it was the 



2IO REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

only safe way. He was quite certain that his sudden 
charge would have the effect it did have. 

He did precisely the same thing in Virginia. Lord 
Cornwallis, the British general who afterward was 
besieged and captured at Yorktown, was marching 
up and down the state doing what mischief he could. 
Wayne was following him with a small force, doing 
all he could to harass the British and prevent them 
from having too much their own way. One day he 
came popping out of a woods face to face with the 
entire British army, which outnumbered his own 
many to one. He made an instant charge, which 
so disconcerted Cornwallis that the English with- 
drew, and the American army was saved from almost 
certain destruction. " Mad Anthony has done it 
again," people said, when they heard of it ; not stop- 
ping to think that the general's action was the most 
wise and prudent thing he could have done. 

Many other stories are told concerning Wayne to 
fit the theory that he was a foolhardy fighter. People 
tell how he used to take a book with him when he 
went to councils of war in Washington's head- 
quarters ; how he would read the book in a corner, 
paying no attention to the discussion among the 
other generals until his opinion was asked, when he 
would shut the book on a finger and say : " Fight.'' 
That is not the truth of the matter. In the first place, 
Wayne was too well bred to behave in that fashion ; 
and in the second place, he was too intelligent a man 
to take serious matters so lightly. It is true that he 



THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 211 

often advised fighting when other commanders were 
opposed to it, but always for good reasons. And 
usually General Washington agreed with him. 

When Lord Howe was retreating from Philadel- 
phia to New York, for instance, Wayne urged the 
plan of following and offering battle, although all 
the other generals except Washington and Greene 
opposed it. Washington adopted the plan. The 
Americans followed, came upon the British at Mon- 
mouth, and the war might have ended right there 
in the capture of the entire British army if it had not 
been for the treachery of General Charles Lee, who 
ordered a retreat. Wayne did wonders that day ; it 
was largely due to him that Lee's treachery did not 
result in a terrible disaster to the American arms. 

But one of the bravest things he ever did was the 
storming of the British at Stony Point, on the 
Hudson, in 1779. It was a most heroic act he did 
on that summer night, as you will see when you 
have read this story ; but Wayne had planned the 
entire afifair to the smallest detail before he under- 
took it| and, unless some accident happened, knew 
what the result was going to be. 

Stony Point is a high promontory jutting out into 
the Hudson River from the west shore about twelve 
miles below West Point, and thirty-five miles above 
New York. On three sides is the Hudson River ; 
behind it, between the hill and the land, is a marsh 
covered by water at high tide. It was an important 
position, commanding the Hudson River at the 



212 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS ' 

lower end of the Highlands, and controlling the 
more important position at West Point. King's 
Ferry, the principal route of travel from New Eng- 
land to the other colonies, landed immediately at the 
base of the hill. As long as the British held Stony 
Point, West Point was threatened, and the eastern 
colonies were almost entirely cut off from the western. 

They had seized the place early in the summer of 
1779, when it was being fortified by the Americans, 
and had greatly strengthened it. The crest and 
slopes of the hill were dotted with earthworks and 
redoubts, fourteen in number, mounting twenty^our 
guns. Two lines of abatis extended across the 
neck between the hill and the mainland. An abatis, 
as you probably know, is a sort of fence made of 
felled trees fixed close together in the earth in a long 
line, with their sharpened, tangled branches pointing 
in the direction from which an enemy is expected to 
advance. An abatis must be cleared away by the 
foe before they can advance, which gives the de- 
fenders of the position a splendid chance with can- 
non and muskets, and the advancing formation is 
pretty thoroughly broken up. 

Beyond the second line of abatis was the marsh, 
through which ran a channel, originally deep enough 
for a rowboat. The Americans had built a dirt 
roadway across the marsh, filling the channel, to 
open the way to the ferry. The hill itself was steep 
and rough, naturally easy of defense. The works 
were held by six hundred of the best soldiers in the 



THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 213 

British army, under the command of the gallant 
Lieutenant-Colonel Henry Johnson, of the Seven- 
teenth British Regiment of Foot ; a regiment with a 
long tradition of fighting behind them ; brave lads, 
and stubborn. 

Washington was in the Highlands with the Ameri- 
can army, watching the British in New York City. 
He was very anxious to dislodge them from Stony 
Point. It was a big piece of work. He could think 
of no man better fitted for it than Anthony Wayne. 
Wayne at the time was in Pennsylvania. Washing- 
ton sent for him, and placed him in command of the 
Light Infantry Corps, 1,350 strong, recently selected 
by Washington from the entire army. Picked men 
they were ; strong, brave, tried soldiers. 

There is a tradition that when Washington asked 
Wayne whether he would be willing to undertake an 
assault on Stony Point, Mad Anthony replied : " I 
would storm hell if your excellency would plan it." 
It is not necessary to believe that story ; although 
Anthony Wayne felt that way toward his commander. 

Wayne made many careful inspections of the 
position, going as close to it as he could ; climbing 
hills in the neighborhood that gave him a view, and 
studying the location and strength of the forts and 
defenses until he knew what to expect on every inch 
of the formidable hill. At first General Wayne 
reported that he did not think a storm of the place 
was practicable, but later, when he talked it over 
again with Washington, he thought it might be done. 



214 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

On the sixth of July Washington himself went to 
have a look at the situation. A few days later he 
submitted a plan of attack to Wayne, which the 
latter adopted with a few minor changes. The plan 
was to attack at night with two forces, one moving to 
the crest of the hill from the south side of the point, 
and the other to come from the north. Secrecy and 
surprise were the essentials of the plan. Only a few 
of the important officers of the corps knew what 
was in hand. A strict watch was kept by the Ameri- 
cans on the point to prevent any one from passing in 
or out, lest some inkling of what was about to 
happen should leak to the ears of the British. Light 
Horse Harry Lee scoured the country with one 
hundred and fifty scouts. I am sorry to tell you 
that he considered it necessary to kill all the dogs 
within three miles, so that their barking would not 
arouse the British on the important night when the 
troops were moving to the assault. That will give 
you an idea of what war is like ; especially if you 
have a dog of your own. 

The Light Infantry was in camp at a point in the 
Highlands, fourteen miles north of Stony Point. On 
July 15th General Wayne ordered all the battalions of 
the corps to form for parade in the morning, " fresh 
shaved and well powdered " and fully equipped and 
rationed. You must know that in those days the 
soldiers powdered their hair, which they wore long 
and tied behind with a ribbon. Wayne was a 
stickler for discipline and a military appearance. A 



THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 215 

week before he had written to Washington : " I have 
an insuperable bias in favor of an elegant uniform.'* 
He knew that a natty soldier had a pride which 
would make him fight better than a slovenly one ; 
and he knew that his men had that in hand which 
would require all their fighting ability. 

High noon on the sixteenth of July ; a hot, sultry 
day. The thirteen hundred and fifty stood in serried 
Hues, " fresh shaved and well powdered," with the 
sun glinting from their bayonets, the crack corps of 
the Continental army. Wayne and his staflf had 
been down the line, examining muskets, looking 
into haversacks, with a word of praise for each 
soldier who showed especial neatness, whose hair 
was powdered whitest, whose face was most cleanly 
shaved, or whose musket was most speckless ; and a 
scowl of reproof to the few who did not show the 
proper pride. 

The men, standing in line with eyes forward, were 
waiting for the command to break ranks, thinking of 
their dinners, impatient to relieve themselves from 
the hot buttoned-up uniforms, when an order came ; 
but not the order they had expected. " Forward, 
march," said General Wayne. 

" Forward, march ! " The command was taken 
up ; and the lines wheeled into columns and stepped 
off, swinging in step across the parade ground. 

Where were they to march to ? What was ahead 
of them ? Not a man in the ranks knew. Was it a 
drill ? Were they going to make camp elsewhere ? 



2i6 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

Or were they starting out to find and fight an 
enemy ? No one could answer. 

For three miles they marched through the swelter- 
ing heat southward to Fort Montgomery. But they 
did not stop there. They swung off into a gorge 
between two long mountain ridges, where their route 
was a wilderness trail along which they passed in 
single file. On all hands was dense, primeval forest 
and a tangle of brush ; only the little path penetrated 
the wilderness, swinging up-hill and down-dale. Wild 
birds flew away in alarm at the sight of the long line 
of silent marching men ; squirrels hastened into the 
tallest trees and barked excitedly from behind the 
shelter of leaf-grown limbs. 

The order ran along the line that no man was to 
leave the ranks on any pretext, unless accompanied 
by a commissioned officer, under penalty of death. 
The soldiers were puzzled. Why all this precaution ? 
Why all this mystery ? 

Throughout the hot afternoon they clambered in 
silent file along the mountain trail, crossing the bend 
of a ridge at last and coming out in a valley, a mile 
and a half from Stony Point. Only once during the 
long, hot march, had they stopped to rest. It was 
now eight o'clock at night. 

There, when they rested under the deepening twi- 
light, the men were told what they were going to be 
called upon to do. Do not believe that among them 
all there was one dismayed ; that there was one who 
was not glad and eager when he was informed that 



THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 217 

they were going to march out into the darkness of 
the approaching night and storm the British fort — 
" Little Gibraltar," as they called it. They were the 
picked men of a brave army of men ; the cream of 
the Continental forces. 

Nine, ten, eleven o'clock came and went. The 
men, " fresh shaved and well powdered," fretted and 
fidgeted, impatient to be off to the fray. Not a man 
was permitted to leave the ranks. The suspense was 
wearing them to a wire edge. Why did the ball not 
begin ? Where was Wayne ? Was the plan given 
up? 

Wayne was out at the point, looking over the 
ground for the last time, making certain of all the 
approaches, satisfying himself that their project was 
not known to the enemy, exercising every possible 
last precaution. For that was the manner of mad- 
ness that was Anthony Wayne's. 

Eleven-thirty, and the order came : " Fall in ! " 
Out into the silent night, soft-footed, without ex- 
changing a whisper, with only an occasional clank 
of steel rising above the steady muffled tread of many 
feet, the column moved; moved to death and to 
glory. 

They marched with empty guns ; no man was to 
load his musket. It was silent work they had ahead 
of them. They must creep as close as they could 
upon the enemy before he became aware of their 
presence ; that was the only chance. Forewarned, 
the six hundred Englishmen in the high-perched 



2i8 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

ramparts of the point, with their twenty-four guns, 
could exterminate the thirteen hundred Americans 
before they could come within striking distance. So 
the work must be done with the bayonet ; there was 
no other chance. It was ordered tnat if any man left 
the ranks, or loaded his musket, the officer next him 
should slay him on the spot, so necessary was secrecy. 

At the foot of the hill they stopped. Black and 
shaggy it loomed above them. They could hear 
the faint tramping of sentries ; a gleam or two of 
light from some dying camp-fire, or the quarters of 
an officer, shone down through the thick shadows of 
the hillside. The calm and silent night brooded over 
it all, holding no hint of what was about to burst 
forth, — no hint save the thronging ranks of men, 
" fresh shaved and well powdered,'' fretting at the 
foot of the hill. 

Swiftly, under a plan arranged and agreed upon 
before, the force was divided into three columns ; one 
to move around and attack from the north ; another 
to advance from the south, and a third to go forward 
across the causeway against the center. This third 
body, the smallest of the three, was to march with 
loaded muskets and begin a brisk fire so soon as the 
British opened on the others. Wayne wanted to 
make the British think that the main attack was com- 
ing from in front, so that they would be drawn away 
from the flanks, and not pay so much attention to 
the two larger forces. Another instance of his " mad- 
ness." 



THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 219 



In advance of each of the two principal columns 
of attack were placed one hundred and fifty picked 
men. Twenty, selected from the hundred and fifty 
for peculiar courage and coolness, were to go ahead 
with muskets slung and tools in their hands to 
clear a way through the abatis for the following 
soldiers. 

Do you imagine it was hard to find twenty men 
willing to occupy this post, so dangerous that the 
little squad was called a " forlorn hope " ? Not a bit 
of it ! The men were clamorously eager for the honor ; 
young officers quarreled for the chance to lead the 
forlorn hope, and the command of it had to be set- 
tled by lot. 

The force, divided, marched away in its several 
directions. Black night overhead, looking down, 
saw the long columns winding forward in silence ; 
saw the British sentinels lounging up and down their 
beats in quiet security ; saw the sleeping garrison, 
and gave no sign. Only a frightened night bird 
now and then uttered a cry of terror as it winged 
through the shadowy sky ; but the sentinels paid no 
heed. Night birds are foolish creatures at best, likely 
to be startled by anything, or nothing. . . . But 
it was well that Light Horse Harry's men had killed 
all the dogs in the neighborhood. Perhaps if you 
had lived there in those days, and had understood, 
you would have been willing to spare your own pet 
in the country's cause. 

Swiftly, silently, under the shadows of the trees, 



220 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

marched the armed men. Black ghosts they were, 
scarcely raising sound enough with their careful foot- 
steps to be heard by themselves. Only a slight, low 
rustle, like a night wind passing through the trees, 
or the murmur of the tide creeping up the shore. 

General Wayne went with the right column, at- 
tacking from the south. They moved onward to the 
river. Colonel Fleury, a French officer, was in com- 
mand. Each man had a piece of white paper 
fastened to his hat so that friends would be known to 
each other in the hand to hand attack. 

They reached the river. They could see the dark 
outlines of some of the enemy's works high on the 
hill above them. They moved toward the hill. 
The lapping mutter of the tide, the occasional rustle 
of leaves in languid puffs of air that breathed 
through the hot night, were the only sounds in the 
still air besides the mumble of their tread. Not a 
word was spoken ; the men breathed softly, as 
though such a slight noise as that would betray 
them. Their one chance lay in a surprise ; there 
must not be much time between the moment when 
they should be first seen by the enemy, and the mo- 
ment when they should scale the last parapet and 
plant their bayonets in the breasts of the defenders. 

The twenty men of the " forlorn hope," stealing 
ahead along the margin of the river, came to a 
stretch of water that reached far across the marsh, 
and hesitated for a moment. The tide had run in 
since General Wayne had been there for a last look 



THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 221 

at the ground. They knew that to enter the water 
was to be heard by the British sentinels and to bring 
down upon them the fire of the bristling hill. Not 
that they cared for themselves — they expected to pay 
with their lives for the honor of the post to which 
they had been chosen ; but they were afraid that, if 
they drew the fire too soon, they would not have time 
to complete the work of clearing the way for those 
who followed. 

They did not stop long. With a jerk of the head 
as a sign to follow, the leader of the little band strode 
in, splashing the water in a white apron that tinkled 
down ahead of him with a rattling whisper of drops, 
and the others followed. 

A sharp spot of light leaped out of the night, and 
the snap of a shot rang across the marsh. A British 
sentinel had heard them, and fired. Another shot ; 
the alarm was spreading. The " forlorn hope " 
hurried forward, followed by the long line of shadows. 

A shot here and there from the ridge ; the sound 
of startled cries ; excited commands ! The British 
were astir, and rushing to their posts. Wayne, wav- 
ing a short-handled spear, which he carried in lieu 
of his sword, urged haste in low tones. But there 
was no need. The men were hastening. 

Suddenly a welcome sound smote upon their ears. 
It was the rattle of the muskets of the column that 
Wayne had sent over the causeway to make the 
British think the main attack was coming from that 
direction. They were doing their part ; they had 



222 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

come up in time, and responded to the signal ; the 
first fire of the English. 

Now quick fire leaped along the hill in sputtering 
fringes, marking the several works, and musket 
balls snarled through the air. Crashing through the 
popping musketry leaped the bellow of great guns ; 
the hurrying men could hear the crash of the balls 
through the trees, and their scream as they rushed 
overhead. 

The twenty were at the first abatis, hacking away 
with axes to clear a path for their comrades. Just as 
the young hunter fires into brush where he hears the 
rustle of a rabbit, so the British aimed at the crack- 
ling noise of the pioneers, chopping at the felled 
trees. One, two, three, a half dozen of the busy men 
lurched and fell, found by the bullets sent hissing 
through the dark ; but the others worked on. 

Only for a minute did the advancing column 
check its speed at the fringe of heavy brush. The 
stout fellows who were left of the twenty, wielding 
their axes, broke through one barrier and started on 
a run for the next, followed by the thin, dark flood of 
streaming Continentals. 

Beside them, watchful, eager, teeming with com- 
pressed energy, but quite cool and calm, hurried 
Wayne, swinging his short spear. 

The " forlorn hope " — or what was left of it — was 
at the second abatis. The noise of the British 
muskets on the crest had risen to an incessant rattle, 
punctuated by the heavier boom of the cannon. 



THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 223 

Down by the causeway, in the British front, the 
Americans were answering briskly with two hundred 
muskets. 

The long, dark line of the right column of attack 
pushed forward in silence, broken only by the sobs 
and groans of the sore hit, and the sharp gasp of 
their breathing ; for they had already struck the 
slope, and were climbing it on the run. 

You have seen a little stream of water running 
over dry dust ; it stops for an instant, melts away 
into the ground, gathers head, twists forward, 
hesitates, and so gains its way along ; losing water 
but gaining ground. So it was with the head of this 
stream of men at the second abatis. 

The gallant band of pioneers, worming their way 
into the abatis, dwindled, until all but three lay 
among the hewn limbs of the trees that formed the 
obstacle. Those coming after picked up their axes 
and fell to, making further progress, only to be 
toppled down in turn. 

The British on the hill, seeing them gathering be- 
hind the abatis, called down to them, taunting and 
jeering them, believing they would not be able to 
penetrate. 

Wayne, pressing into the van, stood upon a limb, 
directing, encouraging, his eyes gleaming in the fire 
of the guns on the crest. His men, glancing at him, 
fell to with greater fury, and the last trunks and 
limbs of the huge fence were swept away. 

But where was Wayne ? At one instant he had 



224 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

stood in the breach, encouraging them ; in another 
instant, he had disappeared. 

** They've killed him I " cried a voice. " I saw him 
fall." 

" Hit in the head," cried another. " I saw ; I know 
how they tumble when they get it in the head." 

" On, my brave men, on 1 " came another voice. 
" Forward ! Forward ! " It was the voice of An- 
thony Wayne, but he was lying wounded upon the 
ground. 

With a curse the Continentals rushed onward, to 
avenge their commander upon the enemy. 

His aides bent over the fallen man. Blood, gush- 
ing from a wound along the scalp, poured over his 
face. He was dazed ; he blinked up at them, brush- 
ing away the warm blood " Carry me into the 
fort," he said. " Let me die in the fort." 

They bound his head with two twists of a necker- 
chief, lifted him on their shoulders, and carried him 
in the thronging column of men. 

Up, up went the Americans, winding across 
the slopes like a great, grim-headed snake, silent 
and threatening, twisting around great boulders, 
coiling to avoid clumps of bushes, swerving to one 
side or the other to escape plunging into little gullies, 
ever rising higher and higher along the deadly slope 
toward the forts fringed with death-spitting fire. 
Never a word was said ; there was only the quick 
breathing of the men, the cries and gasps of those 
who were hit. 




'Carry Me into the Fort," He Said 



THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 225 

The British had ceased their shouting now. These 
reckless men that kept coming on against hot- 
tongued death were not to be jeered at. They must 
be stopped before it was too late ; there was no time 
to think of anything but the strict business of mak- 
ing them stop. And it was not to be done with jeer- 
ing. 

The figure of a man appeared on the brink of the 
parapet, outlined against the glare of the British 
fire ; he was waving a sword, beckoning those be- 
hind to follow. It was Colonel Fleury, the French- 
man who had come to America to help fight his an- 
cient foe, the British. 

Another figure sprang up beside him, and another ; 
half a dozen ; a dozen. Among them was the 
shadow-picture of two men carrying a third, who 
waved a short handled spear about his head. It was 
Wayne on the shoulders of his aides. 

" The fort is ours I The fort is ours ! " The cry 
went up from a score of throats. Exhilarating words I 
It was the cry that had been agreed upon as the 
watchword, to be given when the storming party had 
gained the inside of the fort, and not before. It 
meant victory to those who still clambered up the 
hill. 

" The fort is ours 1 The fort is ours ! " came an 
echoing cry. But it was no echo. It was the other 
column, that had advanced from the left ; they also 
had gained the fort. So well had Anthony Wayne 
laid the plans for his foolhardy undertaking that his 



226 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

recklessness was working" out just as it should have 
worked out. Great work for a madcap, wasn't it ? 

There is little more to tell. The stream of trium- 
phant men spouted into the fort. Bayonets were 
plunged into the breasts of the enemy, still strug- 
gling with bulldog courage to save the fort ; they 
were swept hither and thither by the eddying cur- 
rents of the victorious torrent. Presently they began 
to cry for quarter : "Mercy, dear Americans !" they 
said, throwing down their arms and surrendering. 

That was the way Stony Point was captured by 
Wayne's Light Infantry at midnight on July 15, 
1779. I think you must see pretty clearly now that 
the fight was no madcap venture on the part of 
Anthony Wayne. It was a case of thorough plan- 
ning carried out with a bravery that not every one 
could understand ; and with a valor and discipline 
on the part of the soldiers that a merely harum- 
scarum brave man could not have inspired in his 
troops. 

As for Mad Anthony Wayne, he did not die of the 
wound in the head, which was only a glancing blow 
from a musket ball, but lived to fight many more 
fights, the last of which was a famous fight with the 
Indians at Fallen Timber, Indiana ; and to die like 
any man of peace, of the rheumatism. And the next 
time any boy talks to you about Mad Anthony 
Wayne, you can set him right about it. 



CHAPTER X 

A LOYAL DESERTER 

About the bravest thing- Sergeant-Major John 
Champe ever did was to desert. Sergeant-Major John 
Champe did so many brave things, first and last, 
that it is difficult to pick out the one that was really 
the most courageous ; but when you have heard the 
story I think you will agree with me that his deser- 
tion was the bravest of them all. Not because he ran 
the risk of being shot if he should be captured, or 
because he ran the risk of being shot if the British 
found out why he had deserted, but because he was 
called upon to make his comrades and close pals in 
the patriot army believe that he had turned traitor. 
That was the hard part of it for John Champe, ser- 
geant-major. He had put his life on a hazard often 
enough not to mind the chance of losing it ; but he 
had made a proud name for himself as a soldier, and 
it took nerve and determination to shatter his repu- 
tation by an act that could not be explained for a 
long time ; that might never be explained, if he came 
to his death meanwhile. 

Traitors were especially hated and feared in the 
patriot army at the time John Champe deserted. 



228 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

Arnold had just been found out in his plot to turn 
West Point over to the British in New York City, and 
had fled to them. Andre was a prisoner in the 
American camp. You remember about Andre, the 
handsome and popular young English officer who 
was captured by three American soldiers in the 
woods near the Hudson as he was going away from 
an interview with Arnold. It was through his cap- 
ture that the plot of treason was discovered. There 
were rumors of other plots ; word had come to 
Washington that there were other generals in the 
American army as guilty as Arnold. And it v;as 
known to be part of Arnold's agreement and inten- 
tion to carry with him into the British forces as many 
Americans, officers and soldiers, as he could. So 
there was bitter feeling against traitors of all kinds 
at the time Champe deserted. 

Now you begin to see how much courage John 
Champe needed to desert. He wasn't a bit afraid to 
take a chance on getting out of the American camp, 
or making his way into the British lines in the city 
of New York. He was not at all anxious over the 
prospect of acting as a spy. He was perfectly will- 
ing to try to lay hold of Arnold in the midst of the 
enemy and drag him forth. None of those things 
bothered him a bit. But he was not pleased with 
the circumstance that he would be hated and loathed 
by his comrades. That was what bothered him. 

It was indirectly because of Arnold that Champe 
deserted. There were three things that General 



A LOYAL DESERTER 229 

Washington wanted to do. He wanted to find out 
whether it was true that other American generals 
were as guilty as the one that had gone over to the 
British. He wanted to get hold of Arnold and 
abduct him into the American camp where he could 
be properly punished. And he wanted to save the 
life of Andre, whom every one liked and was sorry 
for, which he felt he could do if he could get hold of 
Arnold, who was the real villain in the case. 

To accomplish these three things he realized he 
must send some brave and trustworthy fellow into 
New York. When he talked the scheme over pri- 
vately with Major Lee — " Light Horse Harry " Lee, 
of the dragoons, — Lee said that Champe was just the 
man for it. Washington wrote a couple of letters to 
citizens in New York who could be relied upon, and 
gave them to Lee for Champe to take with him. 
Lee, returning to his tent, sent for Champe and laid 
the proposition before him. 

John Champe was very reluctant about going, if 
he had to desert. It was only after Lee promised to 
clear his reputation with the soldiers if anything 
should happen to prevent his return, and had made 
him see that it was his duty to go, and that he would 
be doing a big thing for the American cause, that he 
consented. You see, the desertion had to have the 
appearance of being genuine. It wouldn t do to tell 
the rest of the soldiers why Champe had left them, 
for fear that word would get to the British and they 
would hang the brave fellow. There were spies in 



230 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

camp, and in the country about ; much information 
leaked mysteriously from one side to the other, all 
the time. 

Champe, prevailed upon at last, took the two 
letters and stuffed them into his breast pocket. 

" When do you start ? " asked Lee. 

" To-night," replied Champe, pulling out his watch. 
" Now." It was half-past ten. 

Light Horse Harry looked pleased. " Good," he 
said. 

" You will do what you can to prevent a pursuit," 
said Champe. 

"It is not likely that your absence will be dis- 
covered until daylight," Lee returned. ** If it is I 
shall do all in my power to detain a pursuing party, 
short of disclosing to them the secret of your deser- 
tion. Which way will you take?" 

" Paulus Hook," Champe replied. Paulus Hook 
was a point on the west shore of the river occupied 
by a British fort ; the same fort that Lee had descended 
upon and captured in the middle of the night a year 
before. " 'Tisn't likely the bo3^s will give me until 
morning to get away in," Champe went on. " I 
need all the time I can get. There are many patrols 
out, and the countryside is full of marauding and 
booty-hunting parties going to and fro that it would 
be awkward to meet. I shall have to do some dodg- 
ing ; it won't be a straight ride down the middle of 
the road, sir." 

" I shall have every care to give you a good start," 



A LOYAL DESERTER 231 

Lee reassured him, " You have full instructions. 
Do not let either of the parties to whom you have 
letters let the other know that you are in communica- 
tion with the other, and do not let the enemy find 
the papers upon your person. And do not fail to 
bear in mind that General Washington especially 
commands that the knave be brought back un- 
harmed, so that he may suffer in the presence of the 
army." 

Champe, nodding again, saluted, and turned from 
the tent without another word. 

The night was a bit dark and threatening rain ; a 
lucky circumstance, thought Champe. As will be 
seen, it was a ver}^ unlucky one, and nearly brought 
disaster upon him. He sauntered across the camp to 
his own tent, gathered up his gripsack, cloak, orderly 
book, and sword, stepped out into the shadows, made 
his way silently, but without suspicious stealth, to the 
tether, picked out his horse, saddled and bridled, 
mounted, and rode away. 

Major Lee was not entirely happy after Champe 
had gone. He got to thinking things over again ; he 
lay on his cot wide awake, worrying about the young 
soldier. He tried to hope that his absence would not 
be discovered until morning. 

He knew that Champe had a long, hard ride before 
him. The American army was scattered through up- 
per New Jersey and lower New York, west of the 
Hudson River. Champe must ride down among their 
many outposts along the neck of land between the 



232 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

Hudson and the Hackensack and make his way to 
the British fort on Paulus. The country was full of 
scouting dragoons. 

Champe had been gone scarcely half an hour when 
Captain Carnes came stirring up to his commanding 
officer's camp with an alarm. " One of the patrol 
challenged a dragoon who put spurs to his horse 
and fled," said the captain. 

Lee, of course, knew perfectly well who the dragoon 
was ; but he rolled over on the other side, yawned, 
and upbraided the captain for disturbing him. Cap- 
tain Carnes repeated what he had said, with increas- 
ing excitement. Lee told him to go aw^ay ; that he 
was fatigued by his ride to Washington's headquar- 
ters the day before, and wanted to rest. But Carnes 
persisted. 

" Perhaps it was some countryman," Lee sug- 
gested. 

" It was a dragoon of this army, and probably of 
this legion," the captain returned, stoutly. '* The 
patrol saw enough of him to make sure of that." 

The major started to discuss wdth him the improb- 
ability that any one should be riding away on mis- 
chief. No one had ever deserted from Lee's legion. 
"It is one of the men going out for a bit of private 
fun," he suggested. 

But Carnes was not to be shaken. " I have 
ordered the legion to form, so that we can see who 
it is," he said. " Would it please you to make out 
an order for the apprehension of the rogue ? " The 



A LOYAL DESERTER 233 

captain went off for an inspection of the force, leav- 
ing Lee trying to devise schemes for delaying the 
pursuit without making it apparent that he was a 
party to the desertion. 

In a few minutes Carnes was back, boiling mad. 
He had found out who the scoundrel was ; it was 
Champe ! He was astonished and dismayed ; if 
Champe had proved traitor, who could be depended 
upon ? The fellow must be brought back and hid- 
eously punished. 

Lee, pretending the utmost surprise, argued with 
the doughty captain. It was impossible that Champe 
was deserting, he said. He went on to point out 
the many things Champe had done in the past to 
prove his loyalty to the patriots' cause. 

But he could not argue all night ; the time came 
when he was compelled, for the sake of appearances, 
to make out an order for the arrest of John Champe, 
alive, if possible, but in any case not to permit his 
escape. He gave the order to Cornet Middleton in- 
stead of Captain Carnes, partly because it made an- 
other delay to find Middleton and bring him up, and 
partly because he knew Middleton had a tenderer 
heart than Captain Carnes, and would be less likely 
to kill the brave sergeant. Of course Major Lee 
could have whispered to Captain Carnes or Cornet 
Middleton that Champe's desertion was authorized ; 
but the camps and the country were so filled with Brit- 
ish spies that he did not want to do that, for fear the 
word would follow Champe to New York, and be 



234 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

his undoing. ... It was then past twelve ; 
Champe had been gone a Httle more than an hour. 

Now it was that the clouded sky, which Sergeant- 
Major John Champe had welcomed when he started 
out, came near to being disastrous. For the squad 
of pursuers, with Middleton at their head, had 
scarcely more than left camp in a whirlwind of hoof- 
beats when a little shower came down from the 
clouds. Enough rain fell to beat out all old marks 
on the ground, and spread a new surface on the road. 
Presently the pursuers came upon the tracks of 
Champe's horse, clear as print in the new-laid dust. 
There could be no mistake about the tracks ; the 
horses of Lee's legions were shod with a shoe of a 
certain shape, with a peculiar mark in the toe of the 
shoe. 

Champe, meanwhile, had been making the best of 
his way down the neck of land toward Paulus Hook. 
His progress had been slow. He had been obliged 
to dodge pickets constantly, and frequently was com- 
pelled to ride into the woods and wait while some 
wandering detachment of cavalry passed by in the 
road. He was quite certain that he would be fol- 
lowed closely ; it was nerve-racking to have to waste 
any time. 

Morning was just breaking. Champe, riding 
down a little slope toward Bergen, was beginning to 
be relieved. He was now within striking distance 
of Paulus Hook ; his horse could make it in a long 
sprint, if need should be. 



A LOYAL DESERTER 235 

His trained ear caught the sound of hoof-beats be- 
hind him. He turned in his saddle. A group of 
horsemen was just coming into view above the ridge, 
not half a mile behind him. At sight of him, they 
put spurs to their horses, and came down the slope 
on a mad run. 

There was little doubt who they were, and what 
their errand was. Champe urged his animal into a 
run, and tore toward Bergen. 

Bergen ky midway between the North or Hudson 
River, and the Hackensack. One road ran east- 
ward from the town to the Hudson and Paulus 
Hook, and another westward to the Hackensack. 
There was a bridge on the Paulus Hook road not far 
out of Bergen. A short cut ran through the woods 
from the main road he was on to the bridge, avoid- 
ing the town. To gain the bridge ahead of the pur- 
suers would be to escape safely, but Champe did not 
dare risk a ride through the woods, because the cut- 
oflf was so much used by American cavalry, riding 
to and fro on their mischief. So he kept on into 
the town. 

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the squad that 
was following divide at the point where the cut-off 
went to the bridge. Several horses raced off down 
the path, and the others came thundering onward 
toward the deserter. 

What was to be done ? Champe knew he would 
be cut off at the bridge ; it would be impossible to 
get there ahead of the party that had taken the trail 



236 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

through the woods. Unless he could get across 
that bridge he could not get to Paulus Hook. Un- 
less he could get to Paulus Hook, he — 

Four miles west of Bergen, Champe recalled, in 
the Hackensack River, he had seen some British 
galleys. If they were there now, and if he could 
reach them, he would be safe. He would give his 
pursuers the slip ; they would look for him at the 
bridge. If the cursed shower had not made it so 
easy to track his horse, he thought, he would have a 
splendid chance to throw them off the trail. 

He rode into Bergen, whisked around a corner, 
struck into the main street, where the tracks of his 
horse mingled with other tracks, followed the ruck as 
far as he could, came to the east and west road 
through town, turned to the right, and struck out 
into the open again, toward the Hackensack, and the 
British galleys, — if they were there. 

There were a few anxious moments. His horse 
was tiring. If his old comrades lost track of him in 
the village he would be all right. How he wanted 
to shout out to them and tell them the truth, not be- 
cause he was afraid they would kill him in the pur- 
suit, as he knew they were quite likely to do, but 
because he could scarcely endure to be thought a 
traitor. . . . He saw them take the turn to the 
left, and hurry toward the bridge. He slackened 
his pace a trifle, to give his horse a chance to get its 
breath. 

He had not gone far before he heard them follow- 



A LOYAL DESERTER 237 

ing again. Middleton, finding that Champe had 
given them the slip in the village, had sent his 
troopers scouring through the streets. Two of them 
had picked up the telltale marks in the fresh paste 
that the rain had made of the dust ; had given the 
view halloo, and away they were, the whole pack of 
them, cursing through shut teeth at the traitor and 
deserter, 

Champe, stretching his horse into a dead run, 
kept ahead. He caught sight of the masts of the 
British galleys through the trees, and he took cheer. 
As his horse tore along the road the sergeant man- 
aged to fasten his satchel to his shoulders, so that 
his arms would be free to swim. He drew his sword, 
throwing away his scabbard so that it would not get 
between his legs when he was in the water and 
hinder him. 

His horse was rapidly growing tired ; it was about 
ready to give in. The pursuers were gaining ; they 
were not one hundred yards behind. The river was 
not far. Could he make it? 

His horse staggered up to the swampy margin. 
Champe, throwing himself from the animal's back, 
plunged in, splashing the ooze over his uniform, 
shouting out to the galleys and calling for help. 

The men on the galleys guessed what was going 
forward when they saw a man leap off his horse and 
plunge into the river, followed by a squad of hurry- 
ing horsemen. They opened fire on the pursuers, 
and sent out a boat. Champe, swimming strongly, 



238 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

saw his comrades of the legion turn reluctantly from 
the shore and ride oflF, leading his animal among 
them. He fell into a slow stroke, swimming easily 
toward the approaching boat. 

The story that he told when they had pulled him 
in and carried him aboard was easily believed. The 
pursuit, which had been full of threat at one time, 
had turned into a big piece of luck. Those who 
had witnessed the end of it from the galleys were 
in no doubt that it was genuine, and that Champe 
was, as he claimed to be, a deserter from Lee's 
legions. 

He was conveyed to New York City, where he 
presently found himself, after a number of examina- 
tions, in the presence of Sir Henry Clinton, British 
commander-in-chief. Champe was just the man for 
what followed. He was not much of a talker ; his 
face was one that hid his feelings ; he M^as very wise, 
and very cautious. He told Sir Henry a great many 
amazing things about the American arm}^ with just 
enough truth in them to make the Englishman think 
they were all true. Before he was through being 
examined, Sir Henry felt pretty certain that the en- 
tire American army was ready and waiting for a 
chance to come over into the British ranks. 

" Gad ! " cried Sir Henry, rubbing his hands. 
" 'Twill not be long ere we shall have no enemy to 
fight. Here," — to an orderly — " take this fine fellow 
to General Arnold, with my compliments. He will 
make a likely soldier in the legion for Virginia." 



A LOYAL DESERTER 239 

Arnold at the time was recruiting a force among de- 
serted Americans and Tories for an invasion of Vir- 
ginia. 

Sir Henry, writing out a communication for Gen- 
eral Arnold, handed it to the orderly, who beckoned 
Champe, and the two left for the traitor's head- 
quarters. 

John Champe's heart beat fast when he was led 
into the presence of the man who had endeavored 
to betray the patriot cause. He was not sure of 
himself ; was not certain that he could keep his face 
free from the abiding hatred he had for Arnold ; that 
he could conceal a desire to fall on him and do vio- 
lence to him. 

Arnold was sitting at a table in the parlor of the 
house where he was quartered, busy with papers. 
He looked up with a nervous glance when Champe 
entered with the orderly. He had the appearance 
of a man who was making a brave fight against his 
conscience. 

He took Sir Henry's letter from the orderly, 
opened it, and read it in silence, without once glanc- 
ing from it, until he was through. " So you also 
have come to your senses," he observed, casting a 
sidelong glance at Champe, at last. 

Champe merely grunted, and nodded. 

" You are a brave fellow to have the courage," 
Arnold remarked. 

" It took courage," replied Champe. 

" Many more will follow you," Arnold went on. 



240 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

"Your example has had a great effect in the 
American army," said Champe. 

Arnold was silent for a space. " You wish to en- 
list in my new legion, I assume," he said. 

A flush of anger burned in Champe's honest 
cheeks. He pulled out his handkerchief and blew 
his nose to hide the telltale color from the traitor. 
But Arnold was not looking at him ; his eyes for the 
most part were fixed on the table before him. 

" I don't know that I want to enlist," Champe 
replied, controlling himself. " You see, if the Yankees 
should catch me in your ranks it would go hard 
with me." 

" Tut, tut, my man I You're not one to be afraid, 
are you ?" exclaimed the general. 

" I wouldn't like to be hanged, sir." 

" No danger of that. With a legion of brave 
fellows like yourself there is little chance that you 
will fall into the hands of the enemy. You were a 
sergeant-major with Mr. Lee?" 

Champe boiled to hear his dashing commander 
deprived of his title, after the fashion of the British 
when they spoke of American officers, but he held 
his tongue. " I was," he said. 

" So you shall be with me," Arnold promised. 

Champe seemed to be taking thought. 

" Take it under consideration," said Arnold, notic- 
ing his expression. " Meanwhile, you will lodge 
with my recruiting sergeants, next door to me. 
They are merry lads ; you will find life pleasant 



A LOYAL DESERTER 241 

with them." The traitor arose from his chair and 
walked across the room to a bell cord. 

Champe watched him with a strange mingling of 
sensations. Arnold walked with a limp, being hope- 
lessly crippled in one leg from the wounds he had 
received at Quebec and Saratoga. The reminder 
of his former brave service in the American army 
collided in Champe's mind with the feelings aroused 
in him by seeing the traitor active in the midst of 
the enemy, setting up keen emotions. 

An orderly came in response to Arnold's pull on 
the bell. " Take our friend Sergeant Champe and 
quarter him next door," Arnold directed, addressing 
the orderly. " Make him known to my recruiting 
sergeants. He is a brave lad that has lately come 
over from the enemy." 

So far, fortune had favored the American in his 
risky undertaking. He had escaped suspicion, he 
had obtained the confidence of the man whom he 
sought to abduct, and he was to be quartered close 
at hand, where he could have excellent opportunity 
to form and execute plans for the carrying out of his 
purpose. 

The recruiting sergeants received him with friendly 
good fellowship, and he proceeded at once to make 
himself at home with them. The first thing to be 
done was to communicate with the persons to whom 
he had letters. Of these two the first one to be 
seen was the one who was to obtain information 
concerning the other American generals who were 



242 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

under suspicion. That matter must be cleared up 
before he could begin his other errand ; he could 
not leave the city with Arnold until he had learned 
all he could. 

For several days he had no chance to deliver the 
first letter. Although he was under no direct sus- 
picion as yet, he had to be cautious in his conduct, 
because every stranger was more or less closely 
watched. He spent his time with the recruiting 
sergeants and the recruits, gossiping idly and spin- 
ning yarns, after the fashion of soldiers, and estab- 
lishing himself as securely as possible in the good 
opinion of his comrades. 

One night, fixing up some excuse, Champe left the 
house alone, and wandered through the streets of 
the city with the manner of one on a stroll. He had 
his letter hidden in the lining of his waistcoat. The 
other was concealed in a crack behind the wainscot- 
ing of his room. Loitering about until he had 
made certain that no one was spying upon him, 
he set off at last for the address on the letter. 

He found the man he was looking for after some 
search, and presented the letter. The man read it 
twice, squinting closely between lines at the bearer, 
held the paper over a candle until it was a crinkled 
cinder when he had finished it the second time, and 
then extended his hand to the deserter. " I am 
glad to see you safely here," he said, leading him to 
a chair. 

" I have no doubt that I can ascertain what General 



A LOYAL DESERTER 243 

Washington desires to learn," the man went on, 
when they were seated, '* but it will take some time. 
We have to be extremely cautious ; we hardly know 
whom to trust. I am reputed to be a staunch Loy- 
alist. If the British should find out what I am doing, 
I should have short shrift. I shall have to have the 
help of a certain individual in the matter, and shall 
not be able to see him, perhaps, for several days. We 
are obliged to meet by chance in the street ; and if 
we met too frequently we would attract attention. If 
you will walk down Cortland Street in the afternoon 
at three o'clock five days hence I may have word for 
you." 

Champe, spending half an hour with his fellow- 
spy, returned to his quarters. He was impatient to 
be about the rest of his business. If Arnold was not 
delivered in the American camp soon it might be 
too late to save the life of Andre. But he was com- 
pelled to wait for this business to be transacted. 

In the days that followed Champe watched Arnold 
like a hawk. He regretted at times that Washington 
had expressly ordered the traitor to be brought back 
alive. Every time he looked into the face of the 
man who had led a forlorn hope against the walls 
of Quebec, who had built a fleet in Lake Cham plain 
and stood at bay against the British ships, who had 
pounded the British army to a jelly at Saratoga, 
and who had wrecked all his good deeds by his 
infamous treason ; every time Sergeant-Major John 
Champe looked at the man and thought of these 



244 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

things he wanted to lift his right arm in vengeance. 
Arnold had fought too well to be a traitor. 

He met the man to whom the first letter had been 
addressed in the street some days later, as they had 
appointed to meet, and learned that the business was 
not yet completed. The other had gained much 
information, but not enough. It was a week later 
before he had finally established beyond doubt that 
the rumors involving other generals were wholly 
false. They had been spread by the British for the 
purpose of disturbing the Americans' peace of mind 
and breaking up their organization by introducing 
doubts. This Champe communicated to Major Lee, 
and went about the other errand. He had found it 
necessary meanwhile to enlist under the odious 
traitor. The step went hard with him, but it gave 
him a greater freedom of movement. 

On a cool October evening John Champe slipped 
out of the house where he lived with the recruiting 
sergeants of Arnold's legion, crept along the walls of 
houses, came out in a main street, and swung swiftly 
off toward North River. Making many windings 
and turnings, with frequent sly glances over his 
shoulder, he turned at last into a narrow lane, pushed 
open the gate of a little cottage, marched up the 
gravel walk, and knocked at the door. The door 
was presently opened a little crack by a man who 
held a candle in the chink to see who it was knock- 
ing. The man held his foot against the bottom of 
the door to prevent its being pushed open from the 



A LOYAL DESERTER 245 

outside. One hand was held behind his back, in a 
manner that suggested a weapon. 

" Does Mr. Jeremiah Hepworth, esquire, live here?" 
asked John Champe. 

•' He does," replied the other. 

" I have a communication for him." Champe held 
out the second letter he had brought with him from 
General Washington. 

The man, catching a glimpse of the handv/riting, 
cast a second quick glance over the stranger, evi- 
dently fearful that some trick was being tried on him. 

" I will hand it to him," said he. 

"The matter requires an immediate reply," said 
Champe. 

Hepworth, breaking the seal, began to unfold the 
letter, holding the door half open with his knee, 

" The communication, sir, is for Master Hepworth 
alone," Champe reminded him, rather brusquely. 

" I am he ; I am he," the man reassured him, 
glancing hastily over the contents of the missive, 
while Champe studied his face closely. " Come in," 
he said, at last. 

Without another word Champe followed him into 
the kitchen of the little cottage, making sure of the 
door before he left it. 

Hepworth motioned him to a seat. "You are 
acquainted with the purport of this communication ? " 
he asked. 

John told him that he knew what it was about. 

" It is a bold project," observed the cottager. 



246 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

Champe nodded his head in agreement that it was. 

" What do you purpose doing ? How do you ex- 
pect to effect the capture of this unutterable wretch ? " 

"That is what I am come to discuss with you," re- 
turned Champe, boldly, sweeping away all further 
preliminaries. 

They drew their chairs close about the fireplace, 
for the night was a bit biting, Hepworth produced 
pipes and tobacco, and a mug of ale. " I'll help 
you," he said. " I'll do what I can ; all I can. It is 
a risky business, mind you, to bring off this miscreant 
from the midst of his friends, and we must be 
cautious. What is there that I can do to help you ? 
What is your plan ? " 

" Can you find me a couple of good stout water- 
men who can mind a boat and keep their own 
counsel ? " said Champe, who had a fashion of coming 
at once to the point when nothing was to be gained 
by beating about it. 

'• I think I can ; I think I can," replied Hepworth, 
thoughtfully, with an eye in the fire. 

"They needn't know what is expected of them, ex- 
cept that they must be at a certain place on the river 
front on a certain night, ready to row us across to 
Hoboken." 

" Good," said Jeremiah Hepworth. " Excellent. I 
have two such fellows in mind. They may be de- 
pended upon ; they may be depended upon." 

" I shall want some stout fellow to assist me in 
what I shall have to do," Champe went on. 



A LOYAL DESERTER 247 

" Might one of the boatmen do ? " suggested Hep- 
worth. " One of them is a capital fellow ; strong as 
a bull, and zealous. You may depend upon him." 

" I will take your word for him, sir," replied 
Champe. 

"And what do you propose to do?" asked the 
other, for the third time, in a whisper. 

Champe leaned closer to his fellow-conspirator. 
•' Arnold comes home each night about midnight," 
he began. " He walks in the garden behind his 
house for an hour or two before he retires. He is al- 
ways alone. . . ." 

•' Alone with the memory of his dastardly treachery," 
interposed Hepworth. 

Champe proceeded without comment on the re- 
mark. ** I am quartered in the house next to his. I 
have been compelled to enlist in his infamous serv- 
ice, so that I could be free to come and go, and not 
be sent about my business. I am a recruiting 
sergeant ; I live with the other recruiting sergeants 
in that house. We also have a garden in the rear. 
The two gardens are separated from each other by a 
fence. Behind the two gardens is a narrow alley 
way. No one ever passes through it at night. My 
plan is to take off two or three of the fence palings, 
go into the garden at night when the villain is walk- 
ing up and down, steal behind him, with a gag 
ready, seize him, smother his cries before he can 
raise an alarm, and carry him into the alley, where 
we can bind him and make him secure against any 



248 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

outcry. That done, we can take him on our shoul- 
ders to the water-front, put him in the boat, and row 
to Hoboken. I shall notify Major Lee of the night 
when we expect to carry out the project, and he will 
be down at the water on the other side to meet us 
with a troop of dragoons. If we encounter any one 
on the way to the boat, we shall say that it is a 
drunken sailor whom we are carrying to his mates. 
We will select a dark night, and go through back 
lanes. I have already picked out a route to the water 
that we can safely follow, I think." 

They talked the plan over at length, and parted 
at last with a promise of meeting the second day 
thereafter in a certain street, where they should greet 
each other like two old friends encountering by 
chance. In the meantime Mr. Hepworth was to 
see the two whom he hoped to engage in the enter- 
prise, and broach the matter to them, with great 
caution. If possible, he would bring one of the two 
with him to their next meeting. 

The day came. Champe, all impatience, for he 
could scarcely brook being constantly under the 
nose of Arnold without making progress toward his 
punishnient, went to the appointed street and saun- 
tered along the pavement, carelessly, looking in at 
this window and that like an idler with time to kill. 
Presently he caught sight of Hepworth, approaching 
from another direction in much the same fashion, 
accompanied by a strange young man. They en- 
countered presently, greeted each other casually, 



A LOYAL DESERTER 249 

and stopped for a chat. Champe suggesting a mug 
of ale, they turned down the street, crossed a corner, 
and entered an inn, where they sat in idle gossip for 
upward of an hour, when they broke up to go about 
their business. All this to throw out of suspicion 
any one who might have looked askance at the 
meeting of a deserter with two citizens of the city. 

Passing along the cross streets of the town in 
leaving the inn, they spoke of the subject in hand. 
They did not talk after the manner of conspirators 
in story books, with their heads close together and 
sly looks stealing over their shoulders. To any one 
who did not hear it their chatter would have ap- 
peared very light and frivolous ; but they took good 
care that none heard it. They flung jests back and 
forth, laughing and bantering one another, when 
they came w^ithin ear-shot of other passengers ; and 
did not change their manner, although they changed 
the subject of their discourse, when they were alone 
in the streets. 

The third person, who was the one of whom Hep- 
worth had spoken, was enthusiastic for the project. 
His ardor was a bit too keen ; he was for being 
about the business at once, without delay. But 
Champe was for waiting another week, until the 
moon was in the dark, when the way would be 
safer. He was supported in this by Hepworth, who 
had an older and cooler head on his shoulder than 
either of them. There was the less reason for haste 
now, because Andre, whom Champe had hoped to 



250 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

save by Arnold's abduction, had confessed to being 
a spy and been hanged. The tliree separated at 
last, after arranging for future meetings, and went 
their several ways. 

John Champe had no easy life now among the 
recruiting agents with whom he was quartered, next 
to Benedict Arnold's headquarters. He was used to 
their rough banter, having tasted much of it among 
the American soldiery ; but it was a tax upon his 
patience and self-control to be compelled to sit about 
in idleness by the hour and listen to their talk of the 
accursed rebels, as they spoke of the Americans, 
without resenting it, and laying about him well. 
Not only was he compelled to listen to it, but he 
needs must contribute his share toward the abuse 
of his friends on the other side of the river, and the 
cause for which he had long been willing to lay 
down his life, and was now laying aside his honor. 

At last the day was fixed. Champe and his com- 
panions had arranged the least detail. The boat 
was procured and held in readiness. A gag and 
cord for binding their prisoner were secreted on the 
premises next to Arnold's garden, where they could 
be found when wanted. Champe, by great adroit- 
ness, had succeeded in loosening some boards from 
the fence between the two gardens so that they 
could be removed hastily and quietly. A place of 
meeting was appointed between Champe and the 
one who was to help him. The third understood 
clearly where he was to be with the boat, and when. 



A LOYAL DESERTER 251 

Everything was arranged. No one had become 
suspicious of their designs, and everything promised 
success. Having brought things to such a pass, 
Champe sent a communication to Major Lee telling 
him on what night the attempt would be made, and 
asking him to be at the riverside with a troop of 
horse to receive them and their prisoner. 

The night came. Major Lee, ordering up a small 
detachment of his dragoons, set out from camp in 
the evening and trotted leisurely toward the point 
where Champe had written him the boat would land. 
The men had no idea of what was going forward. 
They looked upon the expedition as part of their 
day's work, and nothing more ; a scout along the 
British lines ; an investigation of some report involv- 
ing a loyal citizen in suspicion of being a Tory ; a 
hunt for a bit of forage ; a meeting with another 
general ; — any one of a dozen errands might have 
brought them out. 

They rode to the bank of the river, and stopped. 
Lee, dismounting, gazed long and minutely over the 
gray sheet of water for the little boat that was to 
bring the traitorous general, Arnold, and to restore 
Champe to honor and new fame among his com- 
rades. 

The boat did not come. From early evening 
until morning paled the east beyond the city, they 
waited, but it did not come. At last the major 
turned reluctantly and rode back to camp, wonder- 



252 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

ing what had happened ; full of fears lest Champe's 
failure meant that his plot had been discovered and 
he had met an ignominious death. 

Four days later he learned what had happened. 
On the very day before the two conspirators were to 
seize Arnold, that officer changed his headquarters 
to a house where he could more conveniently watch 
the embarkation of his troops for his expedition 
against Virginia. And on the same day he had 
ordered his legion, recruited largely among Ameri- 
cans that had deserted from the patriot army, or had 
become tired of warring against the king, to be sent 
aboard the transports. He was afraid they would 
change their minds again and desert his ranks when 
they found themselves about to be sent against their 
old friends. 

So Champe's bravery and courage came to naught 
through a piece of bad luck. He was compelled to 
go with Arnold's force into Virginia, and did not 
find a chance to get across to his own lines for sev- 
eral months. When he came into his old camp — 
Lee had moved with his legion to fight in the South 
meanwhile, — his former comrades were surprised 
and angry to see him received with honor by their 
commander ; but they soon learned the story, and 
John Champe became the hero among them that he 
would have been all the time if they had known. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRl 
Legislative Reference Su 



MARKER 



CHAPTER XI 
WADING TO VICTORY 

There was a party in the old fort at Kaskaskia 
on the evening of July 4, 1778. The French inhabit- 
ants of the town were making merry at the invita- 
tion of the officers of the post. The noise of laughter 
filled the soft summer evening; the sound of the 
fiddle quavered through the parade ground ; now 
and then a strain of it got as far as the end of the 
village street or the wilderness of wood that pressed 
close upon the outskirts of the place. 

The French inhabitants were very happy, — for no 
particular reason, except that they were French, and 
were having a party. There were several reasons 
why they might have been unhappy. They lived a 
rough and lonely life on the very frontier of civiliza- 
tion, with only a few distant neighbors, excepting 
the Indians that lived far and near in the woods. 
They were cut ofif from the entire world, getting 
word only at rare intervals, and scarcely ever seeing 
any one who could bring them news of what was 
going on. They had no diversions or amusements, 
except what they provided for themselves in the 
way of a dance or a feast And they were not even 
under the rule of the French king, but were subjects 
of England, which you would expect to be annoying 



254 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

to Frenchmen. But they did not mind it in the 
least. They had been subjects to King George of 
England ever since the close of the French war, 
some twenty years ago, when France lost Canada ; 
Louis or George w^as all one to them, if only they 
could have their music, and their song and dance, 
and feasting, odd times. 

They were having a dance this night, and were 
mailing the most of it. They were unusually happy, 
perhaps because they had just got over fearing an 
attack from the Americans, whom they dreaded 
very much. They had learned from the Indians 
that the American frontiersmen were men to be 
feared ; that they were rough barbarians, terrible in 
fight and cruel in victory, A rumor of an attack 
from the backwoodsmen had come to Kaskaskia a 
few weeks before. The British commander had re- 
cently left for Detroit when the rumor came, and the 
Frenchmen were tremendously disturbed by it. 
Rocheblave, the French commander left in charge, 
had sent a messenger asking that another English- 
man be put in command. He was afraid that the 
French Creoles would not fight as hard under him as 
they ought to. He knew, as a matter of fact, that if 
they fought at all it would be to defend their own 
lives, and not for the purpose of defending the 
British post, which they were supposed to hold 
loyally. 

But that fear had evaporated and vanished, and 
the officers of the fort had asked all the Creoles, and 



WADING TO VICTORY 255 

the Indians who happened to be in town, to come 
over to the fort on this night and have a good time, 
to celebrate their relief from fear. Now the good 
time was at its height. Dancers swept across the 
floor, bright-eyed, laughing, chattering, clapping 
their hands, as jolly as a parcel of children. Brisk 
Creole girls and handsome young Frenchmen, sol- 
diers in the fort, many of them., flashed up and down 
the room in lively measure, forgetful of everything 
but the moment's pleasure. Their elders who could 
not dance sat about the edge of the room beaming 
upon them. Officers of the fort stood in corners, 
nodding approval. Here and there an Indian, 
stolid, mute, impassive, sat on the floor with his 
back against the wall, watching calmly. Everything 
was life and gaiety ; there was no hint in the air of 
interruption. 

When the dance was at its height one of the In- 
dians lying on the floor chanced to turn his eyes 
toward the door that opened on the parade ground. 
They fell on a figure the sight of which stopped the 
blood in his veins, Indian though he was. Standing 
there like a statue, with arms folded, with a face of 
wood, dressed in leather hunting jacket and leg- 
gings, was a tall American ; a stranger ; a back- 
woodsman. 

For an instant the Indian stared blankly at the in- 
truder. In the next instant, leaping to his feet, he 
uttered the war-whoop of his tribe. 

The frightful cry brought the joy to a sudden end. 



256 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

The music ceased in the midst of a note ; women 
and girls screamed in utter terror ; men cried out, 
running this way and that in confusion. 

The confusion was growing worse, when the 
stranger spoke. *' Do not be disturbed," he said. 
" Go on with your dance. Only remember that 
you are dancing now under Virginia and not Great 
Britain." 

They only stared at him, unable to comprehend. 

" Dance on," he repeated. " Do not be alarmed. 
My soldiers have taken the fort, but it is not you 
they have come against. Your commandant is in 
my hands ; him will I deal with, but as for you — 
dance on." 

There was still much doubt in the minds of the 
company whether the solitary intruder should be re- 
sisted, when the question was settled by the appear- 
ance at his back of a score or more of hardy looking 
fellows like himself, armed with rifles. Then the 
Creoles knew that the rumors they had heard before, 
and which had died out, were founded on truth, and 
that these were the same American backwoodsmen 
whom they had dreaded. 

The man was George Rogers Clark. He was a 
frontiersman and Indian fighter who had left his 
home in Virginia and gone to Kentucky. When in 
Kentucky he decided that the British ought to be 
driven out of the towns they occupied in the terri- 
tory that is now Indiana and Illinois. The British 
general Hamilton, stationed at Detroit, was con- 



WADING TO VICTORY 257 



tinually sending out expeditions of Indians against 
the American settlers from the forts. Clark saw 
that as long as they were held by the British the 
Americans would be in danger of losing Kentucky. 

He made up his mind to seize the towns — Kas- 
kaskia and Cahokia in Illinois, Vincennes in Indiana 
on the Wabash River. He made a journey to Vir- 
ginia to get men and means to undertake an expe- 
dition for the purpose. Patrick Henry, governor of 
Virginia, supported the plan with his approval and 
endorsement, but could give him no men. At the 
end of a long period in which he overcame many 
discouragements and obstacles, Clark found himself 
at the falls of the Ohio, where Louisville now is, with 
about one hundred and sixty picked backwoodsmen. 

The task ahead of him was heavy. He knew that 
there were more French Creoles in each of the towns 
than he had men with him. He knew that the In- 
dians were inclined to be friendly with the English, 
and would probably fight with the French against 
his tiny band. But he also knew that the French 
were not very partial to the English ; that they were 
fighting on that side because it seemed to them the 
safest thing to do. He believed that he could win 
them over to his side if he managed it right. 

To do it he decided that he must surprise the town 
of Kaskaskia, give the Frenchmen a good fright, and 
then tell them that he was their friend. He believed 
that if he frightened them enough, they would be so 
relieved to find that he was not going to harm them 



258 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

that they would come over to him. He knew that 
the Creoles were not as particular which side they 
fought on as the Americans and Englishmen, but that 
they would be quite likely to do what they believed 
would be best for themselves. 

It was a hard march he had with his little band. 
There were no roads ; there were not even trails. 
The usual route to Kaskaskia was by river, but Clark 
could not go by the rivers because of the danger that 
he would be seen and reported to the French, which 
would prevent his surprising them. So he was 
obliged to strike out across the country, through 
dense woods and over wide stretches of prairie. 

For the first fifty miles the Americans had to tear 
a way through the underbrush and fallen timber. 
After that they came to more open country. They 
fell in presently with a party of hunters, who joined 
the expedition and became their guides. Even the 
hunters became lost once, and for a long time did 
not know which way to go. 

The tiny army approached Kaskaskia on the even- 
ing of July 4th. Clark had captured a French hunter 
a day or two before, who told him that the garrison 
had been expecting an attack, but had forgotten their 
fears now. When the Americans arrived opposite 
the fort they found that a dance and jubilation were 
going forward, and learned from a family living on 
the bank of the river that the Creoles felt so secure 
that even the sentinels on the fort walls had left their 
posts to go to the dance. 



WADING TO VICTORY 259 

Securing boats, Clark ferried his force across the 
stream, sent one-half to surround the town and pre- 
vent any from escaping, and entered the fort through 
a postern gate near the water, with the other half at 
his heels. He crept up to the hall where the fun was 
going on and entered, standing beside the door, as 
you have already learned, before he was finally seen 
by an Indian and the alarm given. 

But the alarm was too late. The soldiers at his 
heels had already seized the fort and secured Roche- 
blave and the other French officers, while the second 
party had filled the streets of the town and kept in 
their houses the few people who were not at the 
dance, and who might have made trouble. 

The results of his bold move met his expectations. 
The French were properly terrified. The next morn- 
ing they came to him begging for their lives. He 
told them that he would be very easy with them if 
they would swear allegiance to the American Con- 
gress and refuse to fight for the English. They 
were glad enough to do this, and swore their new 
allegiance heartily. All but Rocheblave, and some 
of the officers, who were forthwith packed off to 
Virginia as prisoners of war. 

Clark's task, however, had scarcely begun. He 
had gained a foothold in the territory, but there was 
much to be done if he were to keep it. He was sur- 
rounded by tribes of hostile Indians, many of whom 
had recently been on the war-path against the 
Americans. Hamilton, the Englishman, was at De- 



26o REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

troit, and could not be expected to leave the Ameri- 
cans alone. He had more resources than Clark ; 
more men and more stores ; and he was in closer 
touch with a base. Clark knew that he could not 
expect even to hear from Virginia for many months, 
to say nothing of receiving reinforcement or supplies. 
Cahokia and Vincennes still belonged to the British ; 
even if he took them he would not have men enough 
to hold them. The situation was desperate ; proba- 
bly no one but George Rogers Clark would have 
been equal to it. 

The first thing he did was to settle the Indian 
question. He invited the hostile tribes to meet him 
at Cahokia, which he seized from the French, much 
as he had taken Kaskaskia. They came. They 
were very sullen and ugly. One night one of the 
chiefs tried to break into Clark's house with a party 
of braves, and capture the American leader. 

The chief and his braves v;ere seized. Other chiefs 
came to beg for them. Clark sent them on their way 
with short words ; he would give them no promises. 
After they had gone, to show them that he was not 
afraid, he gave a party in the fort, and slept that 
night in a house in the town. 

His show of bravery had its effect on the savages. 
In the morning, when they came to a council with 
him, they were very ready to listen to him. He told 
them that he would not at once kill the braves whom 
he had taken ; that he would let them have three 
days' start, and then he would follow and make war 



WADING TO VICTORY 261 

on their tribes. He said that he intended to carry a 
war against them all. He wanted to do it. But if 
they desired peace, he would let them have it, pro- 
vided they would be good Indians. If they did not 
behave themselves, he told them, he would bring men 
from the East, as many as the leaves in the trees, and 
would exterminate the redmen. He spoke in the 
fashion of the Indians, with picturesque eloquence. 
They were tremendously impressed, and when he had 
finished they begged him to be friendly ; a request 
to which he consented, with pretended reluctance, 
refusing to smoke the pipe of peace with them. 

So far things had progressed favorably. He con- 
tinued to have good fortune. Word came from Vin- 
cennes that the Creoles there were of a mind to fight 
with the Americans for a little while, now that the 
English seemed to be defeated. Clark sent an offi- 
cer to take command of the place. He could not 
spare any men. 

Now he had seized the towns he had come to take. 
The next thing was to hold them. Hundreds of 
miles from home, with no chance to get more men 
or supplies, perhaps within a year, with only a hand- 
ful of men, surrounded by Indians who were full of 
hate, although they were full of fear ; supported by 
Creoles, as unreliable as the wind, he lay exposed to 
the attack of the English from Detroit, which he 
knew must come sooner or later. But he made a 
great show of security, talked big for the benefit of 
his wavering allies, and waited. 



262 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

The blow fell first on Vincennes, two hundred and 
forty miles away, which Hamilton captured in the fall, 
moving upon the place from Detroit. The Creoles 
made practically no defense. There were only two 
or three Americans in the place at the time — the 
commandant whom Clark had sent, and some 
others that had gone with him. Having captured 
the place, Hamilton decided to wait until spring be- 
fore he moved on to Kaskaskia and obliterated the 
daring American who had come into the country 
with such a ridiculously small force. The roads 
were almost impassable already, and were becoming 
worse. He knew that Clark would not elude him ; 
that he could not get back to the settlements that 
fall, if he wanted to, and that he would stay in the 
Illinois towns in the hopes of being able to hold 
them. So he sat down in Vincennes and waited. 

Meanwhile Clark's situation was becoming worse. 
The time for which his volunteers had enlisted ex- 
pired, and he was able to prevail on only one hun- 
dred of them to remain with him. He could not 
stay in the country with such a small force, barely 
half of what he had brought, and he did not want to 
withdraw, knowing that the Creoles would pay no 
attention to their oaths, but would go back to the 
British as soon as Hamilton put in an appearance. 
He wanted to enlist some of the Creoles in his ranks, 
but did not wish to invite them for fear they would 
consider it a confession of weakness on his part. So 
he hit upon a trick. Telling them that they could 



WADING TO VICTORY 263 



now take care of themselves, and would not need 
him and his men any longer, he pretended that he 
was going to march back to Virginia. 

The Creoles did not relish the idea of facing 
Hamilton alone, after the manner in which they had 
deserted the British cause, and they prevailed upon 
Clark to stay, offering to enlist in his ranks if he 
would remain. That was what he wanted, and he 
consented, after making a show of a delay. 

The winter passed without event. Early in 
February a French trapper, Vigo, came over from 
St. Louis. He had been captured the preceding 
autumn by Hamilton, and recently set at liberty. 
He told Clark that the English were planning to 
descend on Kaskaskia as soon as travel was pos- 
sible ; that Hamilton had a large force available 
which he could gather together and bring against 
the Americans. 

Clark knew that he would have no chance on the 
defensive ; that the British would so heavily out- 
number him that they would sweep him out of the 
country. So he hit upon a daring plan ; a plan that 
not many would have contemplated, and very few 
would have undertaken. He decided to attack first. 

The venture was audacious. The English had a 
larger force than his, in a strong fort. They had 
provisions, ammunitions, drilled soldiers, cannon ; 
everything to make their position secure. And the 
journey thither was frightful. There had been a 
heavy snowfall that winter, which had melted, flood- 



264 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

ing" the country. All the rivers were out of their 
banks. Travel seemed impossible. 

But Clark was not to be daunted by that. Bring- 
ing his little band together, he told them what he in- 
tended to do, and started out to do it. They 
marched from Kaskaskia in the middle of February, 
1779, with as little in the way of clothing and food 
as they could possibly get along with. They had 
horses, and carried with them tools, for building 
dugout canoes to ferry them across the rivers. 

It was not like the march of an army. It was 
more like an expedition of schoolboys, out for a 
Saturday's tramp ; like a party of hunters, off to the 
woods for two weeks with the deer They were a 
jolly crowd, joking, singing, laughing, and cutting 
capers as they trudged across the trackless country. 
When their spirits began to lag ; when the fun ran 
low, Clark would start some new jest going, and in- 
spirit the men again. He kept them lively. There 
was one drummer boy who was the clown of the 
party. When times grew dangerously dull, Clark 
would set him at his antics. So they traveled, 
marching across the water-soaked country by day, 
camping in what dry spot they could find at night, 
living on game brought in by their hunters. 

When they came to the branches of the Little 
Wabash they found a solid river five miles wide, 
where there should have been two streams three 
miles apart. Clark set his men to building large 
dugout canoes. They cut down trees and hollowed 



WADING TO VICTORY 265 

them out, tapering off the ends. Launching these, 
they filled them with their stores and ferried across 
the first branch of the river, making many trips to 
bring up the men, and the horses, which swam in 
the wake of the canoes. 

On the farther bank Clark had first built a scaf- 
folding, where the stores were placed, to keep them 
from getting wet, while the men and horses were 
being brought over. There was a wade of three 
miles to the other bank of the other branch. The 
canoes were dragged behind the splashing, flounder- 
ing men, who sometimes were in water to their 
chins, and who were never entirely out of it. The 
ground was covered with a heavy growth of brush, 
and there were many trees. Sometimes they could 
get the canoes through only with the greatest diffi- 
culty. 

Arriving at the near bank of the second stream, 
Clark built another scaffolding for a place of depar- 
ture, and proceeded to ferry his army across the tur- 
bulent river. The entire crossing occupied three 
days, full of hard work and hardships. There was 
not a man in the force that had on a stitch of dry 
clothing. In fact, they had scarcely been dry since 
they left Kaskaskia ; but now all thought of avoid- 
ing water was given up. The men henceforth paid 
no more attention to it than so manv ducks. 

And so the journey went. It was two hundred 
and forty miles from Kaskaskia to Vincennes, and 
most of the way was under water. At least, so it 



266 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



seemed to the wading troops. And as they ap- 
proached Vincennes, the travel became worse. There 
were entire days when they scarcely set foot on dry 
ground. They camped where they could, on knolls 
and hillocks that arose above the surface of the 
water. 

Ten days after they started, late in the afternoon, 
they came to the banks of the Embarras River. That 
is, they came to where the river was, but there were 
no banks. There was nothing but a wide lake, 
without so much as a hummock showing above it. 
To cross without canoes was impossible. Neither 
could they find a dry spot on which to camp until 
one man espied a little knoll in the dusk, where they 
all huddled through the night, wet, cold and hungry. 

They could not find any game now, because the 
floods had driven it all away, and could not have 
killed it if they had found it, because they were too 
near Vincennes. Hamilton might hear their shots ; 
they could hear his morning and evening guns. 

In the morning they set out, wading down the 
flooded banks of the stream until they came to the 
Wabash River, which they must cross in order to 
finish the march on Vincennes, on the other side. 
Clark set his men to work building more dugouts. 

They had now been without food for two days, 
and there was no chance to kill any game. The 
Creoles wanted to return to Kaskaskia. Clark did 
not prohibit their going, knowing they would not 
have the courage to undertake the trip alone ; so he 



WADING TO VICTORY 267 

let them fume and fuss over their hard lot. He did, 
however, permit his hunters to go out and look for 
game, being willing to take a chance on being heard 
at Vincennes. 

While the hunters were gone his men captured 
five Frenchmen from Vincennes. The astonishment 
of the Frenchmen at seeing an army of frontiersmen 
making a sudden appearance in the midst of a flood- 
drowned country was tremendous. They told Clark 
that Hamilton and the English in Vincennes had not 
the slightest suspicion of his approach. 

On top of this good news came the return of the 
hunters with a deer, which was rather completely 
devoured, you may imagine, by the one hundred 
and seventy men who fed on it. But each had 
enough to keep him active for a few more days, and 
the end of the journey seemed to be approaching 
swiftly now. 

The soldiers crossed the river the next day in a 
rain-storm, leaving their horses behind them. Clark 
had hoped to be able to get to Vincennes that night, 
but he found, when he had crossed, that the entire 
farther shore of the river was covered with water. 
Only a few hillocks protruded above the surface. 

As soon as his men were all on shore, Clark struck 
out in the lead of the dripping column. They waded 
three miles, taking their canoes with them. There 
were not enough boats to carry all the men ; there 
were barely enough to transport the few things the 
force had brought with them. At the end of three 



268 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

miles, they stopped and made camp on one of the 
hillocks that formed an island in the lake. 

Many of the men were too weak and famished in 
the morning to continue the trip on foot. These 
were put in the canoes, and the others started, pull- 
ing the canoes through the brush when the paddlers 
could not longer propel them. 

They traveled in this way all the morning. At 
noon they came to a place in the lake where the 
bushes disappeared from view beneath the surface of 
the flood. It was a forbidding place, with the ap- 
pearance of being very deep. The men were in de- 
spair. To cross seemed impossible. Their French 
prisoners assured them that it would be quite impos- 
sible. 

But Clark was not to be daunted. Standing on 
the edge of the expanse of water, looking across it 
in the direction of his goal, he suddenly took his 
powder pouch, poured some powder in his palm, 
smeared it over his face, uttered a war-whoop, and 
plunged in. The others, animated by his example, 
followed. He ordered those near him to commence 
one of their favorite songs. Soon the wild chant 
arose from the strange procession of men flounder- 
ing and splashing through the lake, often with noth- 
ing but their heads showing above the water. 

Presently one of the men felt a path under his 
feet, and followed it, the others taking after him. It 
led them to a sugar camp, deserted, a few miles 
from Vincennes. Here they lay down for the night. 



WADING TO VICTORY 269 

It was the second night since their crossing the 
river ; they had hoped once to spend the first night 
in Vincennes. 

The night added to their discouragement. The 
weather, which had been mild, turned bitterly cold. 
Their wet clothes hoze to their bodies. They were 
starving ; many of them were already sick with 
weakness. Only Clark's incessant good cheer and 
courage kept up the spirits of the Creoles that night. 
Even so, if they could have gone away ; if there had 
been any place to go to, doubtless they would have 
gone. 

But the morning was bright and sunny. Clark, 
arousing his men, delivered a stirring speech, and 
plunged into the water once more, without waiting 
for a reply to his words, but breaking stalwartly 
through the ice. 

Before the third man had followed him, he turned 
and gave an order that twenty-five men should bring 
up the rear and shoot any one who refused to march. 
The order was met with a cheer ; the men leapt into 
the water after him when he resumed his march. 

It was the hardest time of all. They had entered 
Horse Shoe Plains, which, for a distance of four 
miles, was a solid sheet of water, with nothing rising 
above the surface. They made for a dense woods 
on the other side. Midway across, the weak and 
famished began to give wa}^ Those in the canoes 
took all they could aboard and hurried ashore with 
them, returning for other loads. Many were in great 



270 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

danger of drowning, saving themselves only by 
clinging to the stronger. 

All through this bitter time Clark trudged at their 
head, cheering his men in every possible way, jok- 
ing them about their weakness, making fun of their 
discouragement, singing songs and telling rough 
frontier jokes. 

When they reached the woods at last many were 
just able to pull themselves out of the water and 
fling down on the ground. The strong built fires, 
but the warmth did not revive those whom the 
cold water and exertion had rendered helpless. So 
those who were strong picked them up from the 
ground and ran them up and down until the exercise 
revived them. 

While they were resting on this dry spot a canoe 
paddled by some Indian squaws was captured. It 
contained a half of a buffalo quarter, some tallow, 
and kettles. Broth was made at once, and given to 
those who were starving. 

In the afternoon they set out again, rested and re- 
freshed, crossing a narrow lake in their canoes and 
reaching a dense bit of woods, from which they could 
see the cabins of the town and the stockade of the 
fort, two miles away. Between them and the town 
were numerous sloughs, which were filled with wild 
duck. Some hunters on horseback were riding 
about among the sloughs. One of them was caught 
by a squad that Clark sent out. He told the Ameri- 
cans that Hamilton had no suspicion of the nearness 



WADING TO VICTORY 271 

of an enemy, which was good news ; but that there 
were two hundred Indians just come to town, which 
was very bad news. 

Clark knew that the English, together with the 
Indians and French in the town, outnumbered him 
about four to one. He began to puzzle over the 
problem of winning the town against such odds. If 
he should attack at once, surprising them, he would 
kill some of the citizens, without doubt, and some of 
the Indians, which would set them against him. His 
only hope was to make them neutral. How was it 
to be done ? 

He decided at last to send a letter to the people of 
the town. The young man he had captured told 
him that the Creoles were rather lukewarm toward 
the English, and would not fight unless they had to, 
and that many of the Indians were quite friendly 
toward the Americans. 

So Clark sent a letter to the townspeople by the 
young man he had captured in which he told them 
that all who were friendly to the Americans should 
keep to their houses, where they would not be 
molested, that all who were friendly to the king 
would go to the fort and fight like men, and that all 
who were found on the streets under arms would be 
treated as enemies. 

Having sent off the letter, Clark waited for even- 
ing. His men busied themselves getting their 
weapons ready. The rifles had sufTered heavily on 
the trip, having been banged about in the dugouts 



272 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

and tumbled into the mud of their camping places. 
The powder, too, had to be dried. Luckily the 
day was bright and warm, and the work of prepara- 
tion progressed. The men were in lively spirits at 
the end of their long journey, with the prize insight. 

At sundown the tiny force marched against the 
town. Clark had heard nothing from his letter, and 
had no idea of what reception he would get from the 
citizens. 

He found that his scheme had worked perfectly. 
The Creoles of the town were so in fear of him and 
his men that they did not even dare tell Hamilton 
that the Americans were in the neighborhood. Many 
of the Indians and the French who were friendly to 
the English began to leave town. Hamilton, dis- 
covering the commotion among the cabins, sent out 
to learn what it was all about. His men had barel}^ 
found out, and had not yet reported to him, when the 
Americans descended upon the town. 

As they passed up the streets of the town, in two 
divisions, Creoles came cautiously out of their houses 
offering powder and ammunition. Many of them 
wanted to serve under Clark. One Indian chief of- 
fered to join the Americans with his tribe, but Clark 
would have none of him, merely asking that he re- 
main neutral. Some of the Creoles, however, he ac- 
cepted. 

Hamilton was so surprised by the American ad- 
vance that he could not believe it was true. He 
thought that the first rifle shots he heard were fired 



WADING TO VICTORY 273 

by Indians who had been drinking too much. But 
he soon learned better, when a sharp, incessant 
crackle of rifle started up in the dusk. 

The fire continued through the evening. Fort 
Vincennes was a strong stockade, armed with two 
cannon and two swivels in blockhouses. Against 
these weapons Clark's frontiersmen had only their 
rifles. 

At one o'clock, when the moon went down, Clark 
threw up an intrenchment, and when day broke his 
men, sheltered from the fire of the enemy, began to 
pick off the British gunners, firing through the ports 
in the blockhouses. The British artillery was soon 
entirely silenced. 

Seeing that the enemy had ceased firing, Clark 
sent a demand of surrender to Hamilton, to which 
Hamilton returned a proposal of a three days' truce. 
Clark refused to consider the proposition, and ordered 
the fighting to go on. 

Before it commenced something happened which 
decided the fate of the fort. Nine Indians that had 
been out in a scalping party came back to the town 
and marched up the street, entirely ignorant of what 
was happening. They had not heard the firing, 
which had ceased when negotiations for surrender 
were under way, and were completely surprised 
when a party of Americans rushed out upon them 
and captured six of them, after killing three. 

Clark saw his chance. Leading the captured six, 
who had been killing and scalping American settlers, 



274 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 



toward the fort, he deliberately had them tomahawked 
and thrown into the river, in the sight of their English 
allies. The spectacle at once discouraged the Eng- 
lish in the fort, and their Indian friends. If this man 
Clark could kill half a dozen Indians with their Eng- 
lish friends looking on, thought the Indians, there 
was not much to be gained by being friendly with 
the king's men. Likewise, the audacity of the act 
was a hint to the defenders of the fort, if they had not 
already guessed it, that they had a stubborn and 
determined foe to deal with. 

That afternoon, after a little more show of fight, 
the British surrendered and the northwest was saved 
to the United States. It was the last blow that was 
necessary to shake that territory free from the grasp 
of England. There was a long, hard struggle before 
it became a safe place in which to live ; but it was 
always a winning struggle, and there was not any dis- 
pute as to whom the land by rights belonged. And 
all because one man had had the vision and courage 
to strike the blow ; to march into an untracked 
wilderness against a foe that outnumbered him by 
swarms, and wrest that wilderness from their grasp. 

The next time you get your feet wet, think of the 
soldiers that marched through water for two hundred 
and forty miles, with little to eat, and whipped a foe 
that outnumbered them two to one. Think of 
George Rogers Clark. And think of Indiana, and 
Illinois, and Michigan, as they are now. History 
will not be so dull if you do. 



CHAPTER XII 

THE LAST HOPE 

Every boy, at various times in his life, wants to 
be something that he never becomes. Perhaps it is 
usually just as well that he doesn't ; it was much 
better in the case of Francis Marion. 

Francis Marion wanted to be a sailor. He was 
pretty sure for a little while that he was going to be 
a sailor — he went off to sea in a ship, feeling very 
jubilant. But he was shipwrecked, and came home 
draggled in person and in spirits, and gave up the 
sea forever. 

If Francis Marion had become a real sailor, it is 
hard to say just what would have happened. It is 
quite certain that a great many things that did 
happen would never have occurred, which would 
have been a misfortune to you and me. 

For if Francis Marion had been a sailor, he would 
not have been a soldier ; and if he had not been a 
soldier, the British would have overrun South Caro- 
lina in 1780, and would have gotten such a hold on 
it that Greene would have had a very hard time dis- 
lodging them. It is quite probable that Greene 
could not have done it at all, in which case the War 
of Independence might have broken down at the 



2 76 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

last moment, or the Southern colonies, at least, might 
have remained in the possession of England. If 
you will think it over for a minute, you can see what 
that would have meant to the other colonies, and to 
the United States. 

But Marion was a soldier, so everything turned 
out right in the end. 

Francis Marion was born in South Carolina in 
1732 or 1733. He came from a French Huguenot 
family that had been driven out of France because 
they were not Catholics. By the time Francis was 
born the family had been in America long enough to 
have become thoroughly American. 

He was a lively sort of lad, ready to fight for 
what he thought was right ; and a good fighter he 
was, for all that he was rather small. He was one of 
those wiry specimens that know how to handle them- 
selves. After he came back from his disastrous 
voyage he went off with the militia against the 
Indians, and helped to punish them very severely 
for liberties they had taken with the settlers. 

There are letters written by him at the time which 
show that he was a tender-hearted young man, as 
well as a good fighter. He spoke of the sorrow he 
felt when it became necessary to destroy the homes 
and the standing crops of their savage enemies. 
He was deeply touched by the thought of the little 
Indians ; how unhappy they would be when they 
came back and found their pretty homes burned 
down, and the corn fields where they played in the 



THE LAST HOPE 277 

shadows of the stalks all chopped to the ground and 
ruined. 

When the colonies began to break away from the 
mother country, Marion was as hot as any one for 
liberty. He was one of the officers in Fort Sullivan 
at the time that Sergeant Jasper climbed over the 
wall to rescue the flag that had been shot away by 
Sir Peter Parker's British fleet. But it was later on 
that he did the things which proved so important to 
us who are living now. This story will tell you 
about one of those deeds. 

Matters went from bad to worse in South Carolina 
as the war progressed. The British captured 
Charleston eventually, and swarmed over the entire 
state, burning the houses of patriots and killing and 
hanging right and left. There was no one to oppose 
them excepting a few bands of militia that made 
indifferent work of it, through lack of arms, number, 
and organization. 

The colony was in a condition of despair. Colo- 
nel Tarleton rode up and down with his British cav- 
alry, pillaging and murdering. Marion, who had 
done what he bravely could, was hunted through 
swamps and forests, more than once narrowly 
escaping from his pursuers, who would have made 
short work of him if they had captured him. No 
one could see any hope ; any escape from the ter- 
rible oppression of the enemy. 

Then Congress sent General Horatio Gates down 
with an army to drive out the redcoats, who were 



278 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

led by General Cornwallis. Gates had recently 
had the good luck to be appointed to the command 
of the Northern army in time to finish the work that 
General Schuyler had begun — the capture of Bur- 
goyne's army at Saratoga. People who did not 
understand the circumstances — and the people of the 
South did not understand — expected great things 
of Gates. Brave reports of his prowess drifted 
through the countryside, reviving the hopes of the 
despairing people. They began to take cheer ; to 
wait until this hero from the North should have rid 
them of their foe. 

But their hopes were vain. Cornwallis, marching 
out from Charleston, met the American army and 
whipped it horribly. Gates ran more than eighty 
miles without stopping. DeKalb was killed. The 
American army was scattered ; it vanished like a 
mist. Great numbers of the patriot soldiers were 
captured ; many were killed. Despair was deeper 
than before ; the one hope of rescue was shattered. 

This was the situation when Marion did the brave 
thing of which you are about to read ; the first of 
many brave things that I should like to tell you 
about. 

Marion had joined Gates with a small force when 
that general approached South Carolina with his 
army. Marion's band seemed to Gates to be a 
worthless rabble. They were a motley company of 
countrymen, mounted on such horses as they had, 
armed with such weapons as they could find. 



THE LAST HOPE 279 

Many of them carried fowling pieces, or swords 
made of old saws. They were few in number, with- 
out discipline or organization. They had nothing to 
recommend them to a commander but native cour- 
age and skill in woodcraft ; qualities that such a 
commander as Gates was quite incapable of appre- 
ciating. 

Neither did their leader inspire great confidence 
in a man who had such confidence in himself that 
he held his English adversary in contempt. Marion 
was a slight, dusky, sharp-visaged man of forty- 
eight, with a quick, black eye and an absence of the 
military bearing which was to Gates the sole sign 
of a soldier. 

Gates did not want such an array about him. 
But he was a courteous man, reluctant to hurt the 
feelings of another. As a device to rid himself of 
the ridiculous band without affronting them, he sent 
Marion with his men on an expedition to burn all 
the rice planters' boats that lay between him and 
Charleston, to prevent the British from escaping, 
after he should have defeated them in the battle 
toward which he was hastening. 

That is how it happened that Marion was not with 
Gates at the disaster which befell him near Camden, 
That is how it happened that he was spared to do 
what he afterward did, and save the state. That is 
how it happened that South Carolina did not go 
back to the English, perhaps, and that the United 
States is what it is to-day. 



28o REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

The little company of ragged militiamen, thirty 
in number, were busy in the sludge at the side of 
one of the numerous South Carolina rivers on a 
pleasant afternoon in August, 1780, destroying a 
couple of new boats belonging to a neighboring 
planter, when the planter himself came up in a state 
of high excitement. 

"What in the world are you doing to my boats?" 
he demanded, mistaking the motley crowd for I 
know not what set of mischief-makers. 

" Destroying them," Marion returned. 

"What are you destroying them for?" 

•' Because we were ordered to do so by General 
Gates, of the Continental army. I am General 
Francis Marion." 

" And why in the name of all that is good, bad, 
and indifferent did he tell you to destroy my boats ? " 
pursued the irate planter. 

" He ordered us to destroy all the boats between 
Camden and Charleston to prevent Cornwallis from 
getting away after the British army is whipped," 
replied Marion. Perhaps there was a bit of a twinkle 
in the corner of his eye as he said it. Doubtless 
Marion knew what manner of soldier Gates was. 

" Whipped ! " roared the planter. " Whipped ! 
Why, Gates is so whipped that he took horse and is 
running yet ! DeKalb is killed, and the army is 
scattered to the four winds of heaven — or such part 
of it as is not captured by the British. Fine talk, 
this, of whipping the British ! " 



THE LAST HOPE 281 

Marion, stepping up to the man quickly, held a 
finger against his lips, warning silence. They were 
a short distance apart from the others, and had not 
been overheard. " Keep your counsel," he directed, 
sharply. " Don't you know, man, that if these 
soldiers hear what you have just told me they are 
likely to lose heart, and be hard to lead against the 
enemy ? " 

The little officer of partisans perceived the situ- 
ation in an instant. With Gates's army destroyed, 
nothing stood between the British and the Carolinas 
but his own little band of thirty men. He knew that 
no thirty men, however brave, would have the cour- 
age to stand alone against an army if the knowledge 
of their position should come to them too suddenly. 
For his part, he was stout enough to keep hope and 
determination alive, but he feared for the others. 

"This way," he signaled, leading the planter 
aside. " Tell me that once more." 

The planter recounted the tale he had heard of 
the disaster to the American army at Camden, with 
many details, brought to him by a faithful negro 
who had in turn heard it at a neighboring planta- 
tion. " And mark you," the planter went on, " the 
Tories are gathering even now to make short work 
of you and your men. 'Twould be well for you to 
steal ofT into the swamps and hide like a fox, instead 
of busying yourself burning the boats of your 
friends." 

Marion paid no heed to the warning. He had 



282 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

been hunted before and was not to be frightened by 
the present prospects. " Which way has the enemy 
gone ? " he asked. 

" Why, which way should he go, when he can go 
whither he wills ? " returned the other. " Some, the 
report goes, are on their way back to Charleston 
with prisoners, and others, I make no doubt, are 
hunting you and your ragamuffins. And let me tell 
you that it will go sufficiently hard with you if they 
find you, for they have no love toward you, these 
bloodthirsty Tories and redcoats." 

Without a word, General Marion sang out an 
order to mount. His men, dropping their tasks, ran 
to their horses, scenting something afoot, and eager 
to be at livelier business than burning defenseless 
boats. 

" 'Tis well that you make good haste while you 
may," approved the planter, whose temper was some- 
what cooled by the safety in which his boats now 
rested. " Lie close within the swamps for a day or 
two, and break up at the first chance, is my advice.'' 

" Not a word of this to the men," Marion warned, 
limping off to his own mount. He was lame, having 
broken his leg the year before in leaping from a 
window to escape a company of friends who were 
carousing, and insisted upon his imbibing more than 
he should. 

Something in the little general's manner and tone 
pricked the curiosity of the planter. " What do you 
mean, sir?" he asked, stalking behind him. "You 



THE LAST HOPE 283 

are not going to tell the men ? You are not going 
to make your escape ? " 

" There is no escape from this except in death, or 
in victory," Marion returned, quietly. 

" You don't mean that you intend to attack the 
entire British army, surely ? " 

" I mean that I intend to do what I can to save my 
country, sir," returned Marion, swinging into his 
saddle. " Follow me ! " he shouted, waving an arm 
toward his troop. 

With a shout and a clatter of hoofs they were off 
across the low fields by the riverside, leaving the 
astonished planter to stare after them in wonder. 

In those days the road from Charleston to Camden 
was called the " war-path," because all the armies 
and detachments of troops that operated between the 
British base and the northern part of the state passed 
back and forth that way. The " war-path " crossed 
the Santee River, the most important stream between 
the two towns, at a place called Nelson's Ferry. It 
is no longer on the map. 

All that part of the country was dotted with 
swamps and groves. The roads were not very good, 
being nothing more than tracks of animals and 
wagons through the mud and sand. But they were 
the only means of getting from one place to another, 
for all that, and defined the course of travel quite as 
strictly as railroads do now. 

In one of these swamps, not far from Nelson's 



284 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

Ferry, a small company of men was gathered 
together in the shelter of night and solitude. Some 
of them had muskets ; some of them had shotguns ; 
some of them had pistols ; some of them had swords 
roughly made from old saws. They were all pro- 
vided with horses ; their animals browsed quietly 
on the rank grass of the little patch of wooded 
meadow which the men had found in the heart of 
the swamp. 

It was the night after Marion had heard that the 
American army under Gates was defeated. And 
these men hidden in the swamp were Marion's men. 
But if you think that they were hiding to keep 
away from the British, you will presently find out 
how mistaken you are. 

They were very quiet, talking scarcely above a 
whisper. That was their way ; to steal by long 
marches close to an enemy, and to lie in wait until 
the time was ripe for striking. They did not know 
who there was near at hand to be struck this night, 
but they knew that their leader had brought them on 
one of their loved errands, and they were ready to do 
his bidding. 

As they crouched in a silent group in the heart of 
the swamp, making a scant meal of cold potatoes and 
water, there was a sound of hoof-beats, and a horse- 
man rode cautiously into their midst. He sought 
out Marion. 

"What do you learn?" asked the little leader. 

" There are a lot of prisoners from the fight up 



THE LAST HOPE 285 

yonder, being taken to Charleston by the British," 
was the answer. " They have just crossed the ford, 
going down." 

" How many prisoners ? " 

" Between two and three hundred." 

•' And the guard ? " 

" About ninety." 

" To your mounts, men, and follow me," cried 
Marion. 

They were up and in saddle like a swarm of flies. 

Ten minutes later the cavalcade emerged on the 
" war-path," and turned off in the direction of Nel- 
son's Ferry, whither the British prison guard had 
preceded them. 

A ride of a few miles brought them to the ferry. 
The fight at Camden had unsettled the country there- 
abouts. The road was filled with straggling parties, 
going to and fro, all of them of British sympathies ; 
for it was no place then for a patriotic American. 
The keepers of the ferry had been so busy carrying 
people back and forth that they had got into the way 
of paying little heed to those they took into their 
boat, believing, of course, that all were Tories. 

Riding boldly down to the water, prepared to seize 
the boats if necessary, but hoping to play some trick 
on the unsuspecting ferrymen, Marion asked that he 
and his party be set across the river. 

'* That I'll do, and right smart about it," replied 
the ferryman, whom large profits had put in good 
humor. 



286 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

Horses and men went aboard, the boat cast off, 
and drifted slowly over the stream. 

" Out to see what you can find ? " queried the 
ferryman in charge, sidHng up to Marion. 

Marion nodded. 

** Right smart fight up yonder yesterday," the 
waterman went on. 

"So it seems," replied the little cavalier. 

" Just took over a party of Yankee prisoners, look- 
ing pretty glum and bad beat up," he pursued. 

"Just now ?" rejoined Marion. 

" Some hours back. About sundown. Reckon 
they stopped yonder at the Blue House." 

"What is the Blue House?" 

" What parts be you from, stranger, that you don't 
know the Blue House ? " quizzed the yokel. " It's 
an inn, of course," 

" I'm from another part of the state," replied the 
American. 

The ferryman's curiosity was prevented from 
further satisfaction by the arrival of the boat at the 
farther shore, where Marion lost no time in debark- 
ing his men and setting out upon the road once 
more. 

Their situation was not the pleasantest in the 
world. They were thirty men in the heart of a 
country overrun by a victorious army. Upon their 
devoted shoulders rested the burden of liberty. To 
sink under it meant death at the hands of a relent- 
less enemy ; for the Tories, and Tarleton himself, the 



THE LAST HOPE 287 

British cavalry officer, did not hesitate to hang the 
enemies of their king. 

Swiftly through the black night they rode, a dusky 
cavalcade. Every foot of the ground was well known 
to them. Coming at last to a point not far from the 
Blue House, they swept off from the *• war-path " 
and swung into the depths of the wooded swamp, 
where they stopped to rest while scouts went of! to 
see how the land lay. 

Some of them kept watch while others lay down 
on the grass to snatch a bit of sleep under the starry 
August night. Marion himself sat on a log, waiting, 
watching for the return of his scouts. 

Presently they came. 

" What news? " he asked, quietly. 

"The officers are roistering in the house," replied 
the scout. "The men are scattered about in the yard." 

"Is there any watch being kept? " 

"A few idle sentinels. They think there is no 
enemy within miles of them." 

Marion went back to his log, and waited. 

The hours of early morning wheeled among the 
stars. An hour before daybreak Marion roused his 
men. " Men," he said, " are you ready to strike an- 
other telling blow for your country?" 

" Aye, that we are ! " from thirty tongues. 

" Ninety of the enemy lie sleeping in yonder tavern. 
We are only thirty, but thirty tried men like you 
can make short work of them. Your country looks 
to you. Up, then, and at them." 



288 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

He made a sign to Colonel Horry, his chief lieu- 
tenant. " Take a few men with you and make a 
wide circle to come in behind the house. Get as 
close as you can, and wait until we strike. Then 
close up on them, and see that no man escapes you. 
We must make clean work of them." 

With the eagerness of a schoolboy starting a game 
of ball, Horry gathered a dozen stalwart militiamen 
to his side, and set off on the flank movement. The 
others watched them creeping silently through the 
night. They left their horses behind them in order 
to move more quietly and not be hindered by the 
animals when the final moment should arrive. 

Marion turned to the followers that remained. 
" Look well to your guns, men," he ordered. 

There was a muffled rattling of ramrods in muz- 
zles, the clicking of locks, tried to see that they were 
in order, and a chorus of, " Ready, sir I " from the 
shadowy ranks. 

" Forward, then, and follow me," said Marion. 
" See to it that you make no noise about it. Not a 
word between you. Watch where I lead, and come 
after. Do not fire without my signal." 

Like a pack of Indians they crept through the 
swamp in the direction of the Blue House. Now 
and then the light from the stars twinkled on pol- 
ished gun barrel ; now and then a gleam of star- 
light came back from the straining eyes of the men, 
alight with excitement, eager for sight of the foe. 
They cared little if there were ninety against them — 



THE LAST HOPE 289 

three to one. They had been at such odds before, 
and were ready to undertake the fight again. 

Through the hush of the early morning came the 
distant sound of men at revelry. The British officers 
in the house were making very merry over the de- 
feat of Horatio Gates and his crew. 

The sound stiffened the backs of the creeping as- 
sailants. You have seen a cat stealing up on a 
bird? There was the same tense excitement 
among the tiny band that moved against their bit- 
ter enemy. 

Now they caught a glimpse of a light between the 
trees. They crept more cautiously, testing every 
spot of ground before they rested foot on it, careful 
not to break a twig or to rustle the dried grass. To 
make sure of success they must come unawares upon 
the enemy. 

The trees opened out into a vacant space. They 
came to the road. They could see the house hulk- 
ing against the gray sky. Lights gleamed from the 
lower windows. Shadows of men within were 
against the panes. In the yard the tiny force be- 
held the forms of their enemy, lying about on the 
ground, with here and there one standing watch 
above their slumbers. It was a strange scene of un- 
suspecting joy within and complacent peace without. 
Marion halted his men with a sign of the hand for a 
last rest before the fray. 

A shot rang out on the night air from the other 
side of the house. Marion, whose mind was always 



y 



290 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

quick to understand, knew that Horr}'^ had blundered 
too close and had been seen by a sentinel. 

Not a moment was to be lost. The alarm was 
given ; in another instant the foe would be prepared 
for the assault. 

" Forward ! " cried the little leader, leaping across 
the road, with his sword swishing the air above his 
head. " On, brave men ! " 

With a mighty yell of triumph the men came after, 
swarming across the narrow space that separated 
them from their foe. 

British soldiers, aroused from peaceful sleep, 
scrambled to their feet and gazed about them, be- 
wildered. Officers came tumbling out of the house 
with shouts and curses. A wild tumult arose from 
the yard around the inn. None knew what had be- 
fallen ; none knew which way to face against the 
sudden blow that had descended on them. 

In from the road ran the Americans, shouting and 
firing as they came. Where a group of British 
soldiers stood hesitating, they dashed savagely, 
striking with sword and musket-butt, gashing with 
gleaming knives. Here and there some stood 
bravely upon resistance, until they were cut down 
or driven back. Others ran hither and thither, like 
chickens in a yard when a six-year-old plies them 
with a stick. The officers, with drawn swords, ran 
up and down, trying to bring some order out of the 
chaos, but not knowing where to turn. 

The Americans seemed more like a host than like 



THE LAST HOPE 291 

thirty men. Marion was everywhere among them, 
shouting encouragement and directing attacks toward 
the more stubborn points of resistance. 

The fight was over almost as soon as it had be- 
gun. The British, wholly at a loss, made only a 
weak and scattered defense. In the midst of the 
tumult arose cries for quarter ; the enemy was sur- 
rendering on all sides. 

Another moment, and Marion, pressing close to 
the front door of the Blue House, presented a sword 
at the breast of a British officer there. 

" Surrender ! " he demanded. 

Up went the Englishman's arms. " I am your 
prisoner, sir," he said. " Cease firing I " he called 
to his men. 

The order was not needed. Not one of the 
British soldiers was making a fight of it any longer. 

"Where is your commanding officer?" demanded 
Marion. 

They looked about for him. He was nowhere 
to be seen. They searched high and low. At last 
they found him high up the throat of the great 
chimney, whence they pulled him out by the leg. 

That was the end of it — and the beginning. 

Many were the long night marches, the sudden 
descents on unprepared enemies, before the tale was 
told. Many were the hidings in swamps, the furtive 
lurkings in back country, with rapid strokes made 
at great risk when they could be made, before the 
countrymen took heart again and came back to the 



292 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 

struggle. It was a long, hard struggle, ending only 
when General Greene came with another Conti- 
nental army and defeated the English in several bat- 
tles, driving them back to the narrow strip of coast 
about Charleston. 

But that night was the beginning of it. If Marion 
had failed the cause then ; if he had not led his 
thirty men, his forlorn hope, against the enemy in 
the very hour of the Americans* utter defeat, perhaps 
the dying struggle would never have been revived, 
and many things would have been different through 
the years that have followed. 



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